


To Build A Home

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about a broken boy and the boy who falls in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build A Home

**Author's Note:**

> to build a home. | harry/louis, zayn/niall, & liam/danielle. | r. | 35,000. | A story about a broken boy and the boy who falls in love with him. | **warning** : drug use, alcohol use, religious undertones, homophobia, angst, & Harry tears. | Okay, wow, yeah. This started off as an impulse, because my friends were talking about this poem: [ by travels- on tumblr.](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lydw6eXt111qbzfoto1_500.jpg) It somehow became this huge beast that took over my life. It's based loosely off of that. This is for Mak and Lydia, who gave me the idea. Dedicated to Nika and Maria for the lovely look throughs and the hand holding. Title to The Cinematic Orchestra and Tegan and Sara. I don't know much about the British schooling system or the "lingo", so I'm sorry if I offend by messing up. Either way, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes you may see.
> 
> This is just for fun. The boys belong to themselves & Syco.
> 
> [soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/8tracks-com-foxxxes/to-build-a-home) | [soundtrack/story banner](http://cf1.8tracks.us/mix_covers/000/676/845/77672.original.jpg)  
> 

>   
>  i feel you in my heart,  
>  i don't even know you.  
>  \- _nineteen_ , tegan and sara

 

When Louis was younger, too young to understand, he would go to Church every Sunday. He would wear his Sunday best, opting for his suspenders rather than a tie, and sitting huddled close to his mum. He wouldn’t understand anything that was happening, but he would see the old woman that lived across the street from him in a bright pink suit, her legs covered in stockings that stretched across. 

Louis never prayed when he was younger, because he had everything he wanted. He went to school with kids he liked, got to play outside in his yard and pretend to be a pirate or an astronaut, whichever he felt like being. Sometimes, he would be able to play with his sisters, too, but had to be gentle with them because they bruised easily. 

His mother and father never said Grace during dinner, and Louis grew up realizing that God was there for a convenience. He grew up like any boy did, drinking and partying, finding a nice girl to hold hands with, losing his virginity and going to school, just like any normal kid. That’s how life goes, you’re normal, but then you meet someone who switches everything around and makes you think.

Louis is twenty-three when he meets Harry Styles, and the first thing he notices is the glittering gold cross hanging from his neck.

*

“I’m sick,” Harry says. His voice is deep and rough like gravel.

Louis nods his head and leans closer into Harry. The party is getting louder, and he can barely hear him. “Are you now?”

“Yeah,” Harry responds, smiling. His eyes droop slightly. Louis wonders if his skin tastes as sweet as it looks. Harry takes his hand, palm warm and fingertips burning, and presses Louis’ hand to his stomach. “I don’t eat much, you know?”

Louis is too drunk to have the initial moment of worry, and he doesn’t want to feel old by scolding him. He settles closer, letting his fingertips touch the rigid indents where Harry’s ribs open. His skin feels like it’d be translucent if Louis got to look. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because.” Harry is smiling still, but his lips look harder and his eyes more worn. “I like you. You seem nice.” 

“You don’t even know my name,” Louis shoots back, taking a generous gulp from his red cup. His stomach rolls uncomfortably, but Harry’s hand is still latched around Louis’ wrist, pressing down on his pulse. “It’s Louis.”

“Louis, huh.” Harry says his name like he’s rolling it around in his mouth, seeing whether it’ll stick or not. He leans closer, then, and his green eyes fleck with gray and brown and his hair smells like smoke. “I like it, sounds nice. I’m Harry.”

Louis focuses in on the gold chain again, seeing it catch the light and twinkle. 

“I like it,” Louis says, before he moves away from Harry, letting their hands break apart.

*

In the morning, Louis wakes up to Liam shaking him. His head feels full of rocks and his bones have been wound tight, like they’re about to break. He turns to see Harry next to him, back curled away, but his breathing is deep and even, lulling like waves.

“Come on, Niall wants breakfast,” Liam whispers, helping Louis up. 

“Niall always wants breakfast.” Louis turns away, and then notices the lines of black lining his wrist. The numbers are tiny, straight lines that seep into the cross stitches of his skin. Harry’s name, though. Harry’s name is looped, curved and swirled, like he’s spinning out of control. 

Liam is opening the door when Louis turns around and he ignores the way his pulse presses against each number and letter written on his wrist. He keeps telling himself that it doesn’t matter, not now.

*

Louis forgets about the number printed on his skin until Liam sees it, back in their small flat.

“What’s that?” He peers over Louis’ shoulder, chin hooking there. Louis leans back instinctively, feeling like he could sleep in the space that Liam provides. Liam’s finger runs over the cold skin there, feeling the pulse.

“That kid's number,” Louis says, snapping back into reality. He leans forward, and Liam shifts to stand next to him, drying the dishes that Louis is laying out on the dishrag. 

Liam’s eyebrows perk up slightly, and he smiles, a little bit of the white of his teeth showing. “So?”

“So?”

“Are you going to actually call him?”

Louis shrugs, letting his hands wrap around the counter, the water seeping into his skin and pruning, slowly. “Probably not. He was just some desperate kid, you know?”

Liam snorts, leaning over slightly, drying the dishes. “He’s not. If he was desperate, he would’ve fucked you, wouldn’t he have?” Liam’s eyes are big when they look over at Louis, edging on cautious. 

Louis runs his thumb over the ink, feeling something thump there, lighting his skin like a shock through his blood. It takes him by surprise, and he shrugs, trying to let it roll off of his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’ll call him later or something,” Louis, whispers, more to himself than to Liam. He picks up the wet dishrag and the last plate and says, “Niall is on a fucking food ban from our place. The little shit never cleans up after himself.”

Liam laughs, and everything settles into quiet.

*

Louis presses each button carefully, eyes trained on the small blocked number on his wrist, his pulse settling. It feels like a brand on his skin, laying on a claim, but he shakes his head and realizes that he doesn’t even know this kid. He probably never will.

He makes sure the number is right and texts a simple: It’s Louis, do you remember me? It makes him feel older then, his eyes heavy.

He falls asleep before receiving a response, his phone curled loosely in his hand.

*

Louis doesn’t expect a text when he wakes up, his phone tucked underneath his side, where it slipped from his hands and got engulfed. It’s still dark outside, the night sky edging on tentative blue and dominating black. Still, in the back of Louis’ mind, he hopes that Harry might’ve seen the text and answered him.

The light from his phone is distracting as he presses the button to turn it on. All he sees is a missed call from his mom and a text message asking him to call her in the morning. There’s nothing else.

He places the phone quietly on the edge off his bed, near the wall. The thought nags at the back of his mind, taking up his space until he forces himself to sleep. 

Louis wakes up again, legs tangling in the sheets and the sun pouring in from the window. He can hear the TV on in the living room, and figures that Liam must be awake already. His phone signals to life when Louis gets up, resting most of his weight on his elbow. There’s a text message from a number that isn’t in his contacts.

It suddenly becomes real then, that Louis is actually doing this. He’s never really been the sort of guy to pick people up from parties, usually going for people in his classes or wherever he works. It’s less messy that way, and as much as Louis loves messy, he’d rather be solid in the relationship department.

He gets up and takes a piss, Liam waving when he gets out. 

“Niall and Zayn want to meet up later.” Liam turns away and goes back to the pan, currently pouring batter in. 

Louis shrugs and then realizing, a bit delayed, that Liam couldn’t see him. He walks into his room and grabs for the phone. The text reads: _Yeah, maybe. Meet me up at this party tonight? Wanna refresh my memory x._

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Louis texts back a: _Yeah, sure. Text me the place and I’ll come._ It’s kind of stupid, really. Louis’ never been this easy when it has come to someone, but there’s a press on his wrist where Harry’s name is still half there, ink seeped into the pale skin there. The number is completely gone, and it feels weird without it being there. Foreign and unused.

Liam calls Louis’ name. It sounds like he’s been saying it for a while. Louis rushes to the table, apologizing and telling Liam to not be such a mom. 

“I wouldn’t be such a mom if I could actually trust you, you know.” 

Louis smiles, cheekily with his eyes crinkled, and says, “Oh, but what’s the fun if I behave so nicely?”

It takes Louis’ mind off of his phone. There’s a buzzing around the base of his spinal cord, though. Thrumming, like Harry is sinking in, but Louis puts it off as sleeping wonky like he usually does. It’s easier that way. Not so frightening.

*

Louis is huddled in his jacket and scarf, bunching his shoulders up, tucking his nose into the worn cloth. Zayn and Niall are a few steps ahead, Liam taking the middle as he always does.

When they begin to turn into an Urban Outfitters, Zayn practically glittering in the cool, nonchalant way that he always seems to maintain, Louis catches up to Liam.

“They needed us to come along so we could stand around while they shop?” Louis savors the heat as he walks inside. Zayn has Niall by his elbow, laughing and leaning close to him. They seem happy. Louis turns to look at Liam, waiting for an answer.

“What?” Liam asks, his eyes big and brown. “You’re not still hung over, are you? You didn’t even drink that much.”

Louis punches Liam in the shoulder, offended. “No way, I’m just. Tired, man.” 

Liam snorts, sorting through some of the clothes on the closest table. He looks up and says, “Want to be a help? Help me find something for Danielle. I’m crap at presents.”

They go out to eat afterwards. Louis thumbs through his messages, looking at the only one Harry sent. His name in pixilated letters, the screen close to the point of blinding white as Louis sees the address. 

“You want to come to a party with me tonight?” 

Liam shrugs his shoulders, throwing the apartment keys into the handmade dish one of Louis’ many sisters made as a house-warming gift. It’s heart warming and sometimes eases Louis’ cases of homesickness. The keys clink against the hardened clay.

“Probably not,” Liam answers, after a few seconds of silence. He sits down. “Danielle might be coming over tonight. She has off from the dance studio today, so you know.”

“Oh, so you two want to fuck. Good, then this works out perfectly, doesn’t it?” Louis jokes.

Liam blushes and tosses one of the pillows that Liam’s parents bought them at Louis, hitting him in the shoulder. “Come off it, will you?” His tone is joking, and Louis laughs and settles onto the couch, their thighs nearly touching.

In the back of his mind, he thinks about Harry.

*

Louis doesn’t find Harry at first, in the throng of people at the party. It smells like smoke when he gets there, music already thumping and changing his heart to match the beat.

He gets himself a beer from the kitchen, greeting people that he’s seen at other parties before. There’s an itch in the back of his hands, wanting to text Harry and ask where he is, but Louis has a feeling that Harry wants to be found and chased for, and Louis has always been good at playing games.

The house is warm from all the bodies piled in and Louis wants to lose himself. Close his eyes and let his body sway. He feels too old in these parties, where people are beginning to understand love and heartbreak and Louis should be finding an actual job to settle in, rather than working for next to nothing at the record shop. 

Harry somehow finds him in the chaos of the bodies, hands fitting against his chest. His eyes are drooped, like he hasn’t slept all day, but his hands are so warm as they press. Louis’ heart jitters a bit, beating to the tap of Harry’s pulse on his bones, the way it rattles and shakes and consumes him.

“Long time no see,” Harry says, giggling airily, voice deep and dark. Louis wants to grab him by his feather light bones and press him into the wall, the bed, the bathroom, and take. Take skin and kisses and touches and the way Harry’s eyes seem to close even more whenever Louis sees him. It’s addicting, sickening and twisting, the way that Harry already has this hold and it’s only been a day.

Louis smiles, taking a sip from his cup. Harry is the same height at him, hips aligned like they were meant to slot and stick. “Says the kid who sort of remembers me.”

“I do remember you.” Harry’s whole being smells of smoke and something that could be cologne, but it’s hidden under so many layers of sin that Louis can’t tell. He doesn’t want to, he likes sin better. Harry tilts his head, tongue caught in the straight rows of his teeth, teasing. “I remember saying I like your name.”

Louis laughs, quiet and rough. People are all around them, barricading them in heat and pressing them so close to one another it feels like Louis will become a part of Harry’s ribs and bones and heart. 

“Let’s go somewhere private,” He whispers into Harry’s ear, and Harry’s only response is a shaky innocent breath.

*

Harry’s body is easy when it lands on the soft bed in one of the empty rooms. Louis is actually sort of surprised, in the jumble of his half-sober thoughts, that there still are empty rooms.

They don’t end up laying down, exchanging kisses or touching, roaming and trying to discover, no. Harry leans into Louis, body warm and breath reeking of smoke and alcohol, his eyes giddy and tired. 

“You’re a bit heavy for not being a consistent eater, aren’t you,” Louis mumbles, his lips catching the barest edge of Harry’s hair. Harry leans heavier on Louis’ back, breath heavy, like he’s been running for days and he was just able to stop. Stop for Louis and breathe. 

Harry’s laugh, though, is bright like the giddy edge of his eyes and smoky like the scent on their bodies and the smoke filtering through the house. 

“Yeah,” Harry answers, not very shocked or embarrassed. His hand runs down the expanse of Louis’ back, trailing his spinal cord. “But you’re so close to me, maybe that’s why. Usually people think I’m quiet.”

“Probably haven’t met you like this, have they?” Louis turns his head, trying to catch a glance of Harry. Harry falls back onto the bed, legs tossed lazily, one-bent 90 degrees and touching the other’s kneecap. His shirt is riding up. Louis can catch the barest hint of a lazy trail there, just a tiny whisper of hair along pale and sweet skin. Harry’s eyes are on Louis’ face though, lips opened in a tiny smile.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, awkward and stilled from being on the bed. “No one really does see me like this. I’m more of a floater at parties. Most people who see me like this don’t remember.” Harry giggles again, breathless. His chest pumps up and down, air in his lungs that can’t quite escape as quick as he needs it to.

Louis turns his body until his knees hit the pointed toes of Harry’s foot. His hand trails lazily around the anklebone, feeling soft skin stretch across hard bone. Harry feels like Louis can bend him and mold him, make him into something that could edge onto cruel, but beautiful. Louis retracts his hand, rests it in his lap. 

Harry leans up after that, silence breaching like a comfort. His arms hold up his weight, and Harry’s head tilts a bit to the left, his eyes wide. It reminds Louis of Liam a bit, eyes that search and search. Only Liam always has an objective with his eyes, but Harry seems to just have eyes of an innocent doe, the way they roam around like they don’t know what they’re looking for, like they’d rather get lost than ever be found. It’s a bit unsettling on Louis’ ribs, when Harry looks at him, finally rests.

Louis pulls Harry’s legs until they’re resting over his knees. His fingers dance along the edge of Harry’s kneecaps, tracing circles around the hard bone. It’s obscene, how nice Harry looks with legs wide open from this angle, but. But it’s not innocent in the way Harry is, but his breathing is calm and his fingers play with the bedding, still being propped up by his own hands.

“Why did you want me to meet you at a party, anyway?” 

“It’s easier, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees quietly, fingers stopping on Harry’s defined kneecaps. His fingers itch to trail farther down, touch Harry’s heavy collarbones that he can see through the press of fabric of Harry’s shirt. He swallows it down. Reminds himself that he’s years older than Harry and he shouldn’t be acting like the giddy teenager. 

It’s silent again, resting and all Louis can take in is Harry’s heavy breathing. The way each inhale is dragged in and his exhales are pushed out. He feels like he can fall asleep to it. The alcohol is wearing off, his skin in the half state of numb and being sensitive to everything again. 

“What do you do, Louis?” Harry asks. He’s shifted from resting on his arms to fully sitting up now; his legs still thrown over Louis’ own crossed ones. It makes them seem domesticated, reaching for one another through their spaces of bodies. Louis wants to press up against him and feel his heartbeat, see this tiny boy’s shaking ribs and thunderous heart. 

Louis looks up at Harry, half asleep. “I work in a record store a few blocks away from my place. I need another job, though.” His fingers beg to trace up Harry’s thighs, lying there, open and exposed, but he locks it away. Buries it deeper into his chest and ribs, tucking them for a later time.

“Yeah? That sounds nice.”

“It’s a bit shit, really.”

“You want to know where I work?” Harry doesn’t wait for an answer. “At a bakery on the weekends. I need to go in tomorrow morning come to think of it.” 

“You best go to sleep soon then, don’t you think?” Louis laughs. Harry’s eyes twinkle in the dim light of the room. 

Harry pulls Louis close, his legs slipping off Louis’ hips and landing with a soft thud on the bed sheets. Their lips ghost over one another. 

“Are you going to take the chance?” Harry asks, tilting his head slightly, inviting Louis in. Louis closes his eyes, feels his nose bump softly against Harry’s nose. His stomach feels knotted, his hands clutching onto Harry’s ankle, pressing it deeper into the bed sheets.

“No,” Louis answers, opening his eyes. Harry’s eyes are impossibly wide up close, like the moon, twinkling green. “Not yet.”

*

Louis wakes up, the space next to him empty. He can feel the ghost of Harry’s legs on his lap when he blinks and realizes where he is. There are running feet passing by him, laughter heard as they run downstairs. Louis picks himself up, making sure to take a piss before leaving.

His head feels heavy and his eyes sore. There aren’t any new messages on his phone, the background of his sisters smiling up at him. That’s fine, though, because Louis knows they’ll meet again.

*

The record store feels quieter than usual when Louis steps inside, waving to Zayn who is putting the CD’s and records donated to them in their correct slots.

“Hey,” Zayn says, nodding his head in greeting. Louis’ head feels heavy and his eyes are sore, aching. 

Louis nods back and leans against the counter. He tugs his beanie down more.

“Do you think it’ll be busy today?”

“Nah,” Zayn shrugs, tapping his fingers on the glass. He stops once he looks at Louis and sees him glaring. “Sorry, mate. Did you see that kid last night?”

“What? How did you know about that?” Louis asks, voice loud in the empty record shop. Zayn shoots a look at his arm, the marker still on his skin, like a half faded brand. A claim that says ‘don’t touch and don’t look and just don’t, mine’. 

Zayn snorts, his eyes flashing bronze in the light. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? It’s not a big deal, man. Liam was happy that Danielle and him got some alone time.”

“Yeah, so they could fuck.”

“Well,” Zayn taps the counter top again. He picks the CD’s up and smiles. “You two are sort of morphed into one person.”

“No, we’re not.” Louis waves his arms around, exaggerated. “People always say that, but Liam is sensible! He does his own laundry and everything!”

*

Harry and Louis begin to have this thing where they only interact at parties. It’s kind of like being back in middle school, always waiting for that class where your crush is. Louis never thinks of it out of the ordinary when Harry texts him, all proper punctuation and grammar during the middle of the week.

Usually the texts say something about a party Harry’s heard about from people in his classes. It’s oddly upsetting how much relief Louis gets whenever Harry sends him a text message, the way his name just makes a subtle burn in Louis’ throat, like he’s suddenly realized how long he’s gone.

It’s the same thing over and over again. Louis waiting for Harry to come out of the shadows to find him, hands cradling his chest from either the front or pressed against his back. In the few months that they’ve been playing this game, Harry has blossomed. His limbs awkward and young and long, cheeks pressing tight against skin, torso growing longer and longer.

“I feel like I’ve known you for far too long,” Louis says in a bedroom. It’s a custom now for them to find a bedroom to sneak off into before all of them get taken up. Harry seems to like the muffled sound of music more than the actual thing, up close. 

Harry is leaning onto Louis, their thighs pressed together. “Really?” He asks. His voice rougher than it was before. 

“Yeah,” Louis looks at Harry’s hands in his lap, the leather band wrapped around his wrist, hanging carelessly off. “Really. It’s weird.”

“I could meet your friends,” Harry responds. His head bent down slightly. His words are getting softer, drawn out more than they were before. Louis thought it was impossible to have Harry be any lazier with speaking, but then he started paying attention to him before he fell asleep, how needy and lazy and unmasked he gets. 

Louis always asks his friends to come whenever he gets the text message. Usually Zayn and Niall already have something planned for the week and Liam is too busy being serious with Danielle. They never dick around about Louis being into guys or going to Harry every week, they sometimes express relief whenever he asks, just so they know they won’t have a Louis Tomlinson shaped third wheel like they used to. 

It’s kind of pathetic, really.

Louis settles Harry onto the sheets, straddling him. It gets closer and closer each time they meet, pushing the brink and laying out different boundaries. 

“Are you going to kiss me this time or wait until the next?” Harry asks, his eyes fluttering closer and his hand hooking Louis’ thigh. His fingers are warm and long, like a childhood blanket that a child long for after theirs has been thrown away from too much use. 

Louis’ breath stutters at the bluntness of the question. Harry is blunt in the way that he’s not. He phrases a question into a cushion, making the words impossibly sweet to the ear when they’re supposed to be absolutely rotten. 

“We haven’t even properly been on a date,” Louis breaths, hand stretched on Harry’s stomach. Harry’s hands are heavier than they were seconds before, his chest pumping breath slowly.

Harry’s eyes are shadows of dark green, close to the point of black from how dim the light is in the room. 

“This makes us sound like we’re in sixth form, doesn’t it?” Harry laughs, although it’s more of a ghost of a laugh and rather a push of air. 

“If I remember correctly,” Louis says, pressing his thumb beneath the skin right below Harry’s rib cage. He hears Harry take a sharp inhale, his eyes closing and staying that way. “You still are in sixth form.”

“Yeah, but.” Harry’s words are elongated and his eyes remain shut. “I’ve always been told I’m more mature than I look.”

*

Waking up after a party with Harry is usually the same. Louis usually wakes up alone, with the faded memory of Harry pressing against his chest still in the barest edge of his mind.

This time it’s different, though. Harry is a small bundle in Louis’ cage of his arms, holding him close. He smells like the sweet-sharp twang of alcohol, stuck on his clothes and on his skin. His hair smells like fruit and smoke.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, lips ghosting the edges of Harry’s loosest and laziest curls. His hand shifts from Harry’s chest to his hip, pressing with more intention. “Harry, hey. Wake up.”

Harry’s body hums underneath Louis’ touch, skin seeming to buzz at the words. 

“What?” He asks. His voice is aimed at the window in front of him rather than at Louis. He can feel Harry’s chest stutter to a stop.

“You okay?” Louis asks, his hand pressing, warm and heavy, onto the fragile ribs. Harry relaxes into his touch, back arching and limbs heavy with sleep. Louis wants to get him up, kiss him awake, maybe. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. He sounds groggy with sleep, blurred along the lines like he’s been swiped away. 

Louis presses his hand harder against Harry’s chest, fingers taking in the heartbeat, quick. It’s surprising, how quick Harry’s heartbeat is when everything is so slow with him. Dragged out until it’s so thin that everything appears translucent and thin, to the point of breaking.

It’s the first time that Louis has left with Harry, but it doesn’t feel any different. Harry is inches taller than Louis, but his body is curved inwards. It looks like someone has morphed him into that sensual curve, the way his spine curves just slightly and he tucks his elbows into his sides and tries to keep as small as possible. 

Louis tugs Harry loose, feeling resistance at first. He pretends not to be stung by it, because usually Harry is open. He’s loose limbs and a laugh that slides down the veins of Louis’ neck and tickling his collarbone. He’s open and soft, smooth lines that curve and sometimes jut so hard that it makes Louis lose balance for a while and have to rethink everything.

Harry makes Louis think. Makes him second-guess and flip the table and wonder what his next move will be. Harry is soft and hard, blurred and sometimes so clear that he shines brighter than anything Louis has ever seen. 

The sidewalks are busy. Louis keeps Harry close, nudging him by his elbow or shoulder whenever someone seems to be on a mission to get from point a to point b. Harry loosens up eventually. 

“I have to turn here,” Harry comments. Louis didn’t even realize that they were silent until now.

“Oh. Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Louis knows there isn’t any chance for a kiss here. Not in the throngs of people that push past their shoulders and look at them. Harry’s eyes shine green from the heavy sun’s light and he looks beautiful like this. Warm and alive and Louis wants to hold onto him. He wants to feel his skin and his bones and press into him and live in him.

“I’ll see you later,” Louis says, waving at Harry when he’s allowed to walk across the street. Harry smiles, just a twitch of his lips and he waves goodbye, too. 

Louis watches as Harry walks away. He can catch his back, straight lined like he’s marching to fight a battle. Maybe there isn’t much that Louis knows about Harry from their conversations in the half darkness numbness of bedroom to bedroom. Before Louis can clear the thought and the beginnings of anxiety from his ribs, Harry is gone, just another person getting from point a to point b.

*

When Louis gets home, his palms itch and his head feels heavy. Liam is gone, a note stuck on the counter telling Louis that he’ll be back later at night. It also tells Louis to clean up his mess if he pukes again. Louis keeps the note stuck on the counter.

He takes a shower, letting the water run down his skin and wash away the sins of the night. His bones feel wound and like they’ve been set wrong. The water is hot and welcoming and Louis imagines Harry’s body when he closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. It’s not sexual, because all Louis sees are Harry’s eyes in the morning and the way his chest stuttered to a halt for a second, like he was scared that something was going to snatch him away.

After the shower, Louis doesn’t feel any better. He puts on a clean pair of boxers – reminds himself that he has to thank Liam later for doing the wash – and goes to sleep. He doesn’t dream of anything, but sometimes, on the edge of being awake and sleep, there’s an image of his hand gripping Harry’s ankle that sticks and sears into his chest.

*

Harry doesn’t leave a message for Louis that week. A headache blossoms in the back of his head, and he takes more hours at work to get over the thought. He doesn’t register the empty space that grows behind his bones, expanding until it feels like it’s going to burst out of his skin.

Liam begins spending more time with Danielle and Louis is happy for him. Zayn and Niall take him out on the weekend, lights blinding and Louis is beginning to hate music up close. He’d rather hear it muffled by a door or a wall or a cage keeping him inside.

His world has been flipped, or maybe it’s just been turned the right way. It continues to spin and Louis continues to live.

*

“You’re being overdramatic,” Liam tells Louis, sitting across from him at the dinner table.

It’s Wednesday night, and Louis pretends that the space he feels in his chest is normal. That’s it always been there and only now he’s realizing it. It doesn’t sting or burn, but instead it inflates. It makes him feel like he can’t keep breathing and he’s been sleeping for too long. Louis compares it to being underwater for a while, trying to hold your breath. 

It really fucking sucks.

“Am not,” Louis pesters back. They’ve been having this fight – silently because Liam never does loud unless it calls for it – and they’ve been tugging back and forth. Louis knows he is being overdramatic. Knows it by whenever one of the guys rolls their eyes when he checks his phone, just to see if maybe there is some sort of explanation. If there was anything to tell him where Harry had gone. He knew people didn’t vanish into thin air, completely gone. 

“You were the one who said he was some desperate kid, didn’t you?” Liam’s tone isn’t harsh when he says it. His eyes not focused on Louis’ face as he says it, and Louis really hates that they’re the type of co-dependence that relies on passive aggressive talks rather than actually getting to the heart of things. It makes living together a living hell sometimes.

“Yeah, but.” Louis stops himself. Takes a breath. 

Liam waits.

“He’s different, I guess.” Louis feels his cheeks heat, reddening at the confession. It feels like he’s about to puke. 

Liam looks at him that time. They all know about Louis’ habits, how much he can sink into the comfort of having a warm body to wake up next to. 

“Are you sure?” He presses on. Louis feels like someone is touching the edges of his heart. His eyes feel sore.

Louis twists his hands together, feeling the pads sweat as he presses them together. 

Liam accepts it as an answer.

*

There are times when Louis thinks he sees Harry. Crowded in the street, full of people, he feels like he’ll catch the glimpse of Harry’s curls or the gleam of his green emerald eye.

It’s always a trick of the light, though. Always.

*

The world keeps spinning and so does Louis. He starts to text Harry things, just to see if he’ll respond. He remembers the last time they met, the morning after when Louis watched Harry get swallowed up by people. Almost a month ago. Louis wonders if he’ll get no response if he ever tries to call Harry. It seems like a defeat, to try and throw that line and be desperate. Louis usually tucks his phone away after he texts Harry about parties and even his own address, just to see if he’ll come by and the world will stop spinning so much and Louis will be able to catch his feet and take a breath.

He feels like he’s been holding them all in. Waiting for the day Harry gets back, shining eyes and cautious smile and all.

*

The day Harry comes back, it’s raining outside. It’s also some time in the night, Louis and Liam sitting at the dinner table and fucking around. It’s normal for them, to always meet in the night when the shadows are deeper and they can get lost together.

Only, Harry is shaking and his skin seems more translucent than Louis has ever seen. His eyes are big and green and so full of apologies. Other things that it makes Louis exhale a breath. He sucks one in, keeps it tucked in the indents of his ribs and his heart.

“I have a lot to tell you.” Harry’s voice is near pleading, silently begging for Louis’ to take him in.

“You must be soaking.” Is the only thing Louis thinks to say, his mind taking over his heart. Liam is standing a few feet away from the door.

“Whose at the door?” He asks.

“It’s Harry.”

“Can I?” Harry waves his hand. His other arm is holding onto a bag stuffed full. A backpack slung carelessly from his shoulder. Louis’ heart sinks into the pit of his stomach and his throat feels hot.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just steps aside and holds the door open for Harry. He looks around the room first; making sure nothing will jump up and snatch him.

Harry looks at Liam for a second, their eyes at the same line of height. 

“I wish we meet under better terms,” Harry says, smiling a little bit. It’s not convincing, though, not with the way his eyes seem to be guarded and his jaw clenched that it might snap in half if he keeps it locked any longer.

“Well,” Liam shrugs. “There’s always tomorrow morning.” He doesn’t wait for Harry to answer, but he shoots Louis a look and goes into his room, the door closing softly with a very definite click.

Louis doesn’t know where to start when it’s just the two of them in the room. Harry’s hair is wet, his clothes soaked through and he’s shaking a little bit.

“Where did you go?” 

Harry turns then. His expression is softer this time. His eyes shine in the light, but Louis doesn’t know what to make of it anymore. Harry seems to be getting lost in his own brain, running away and Louis doesn’t know if he’ll be able to catch up. 

He tries again. “Where did you go? Will you tell me?”

Harry’s breath catches. Louis wants to touch his chest, press on his ribs and try to make him breathe out again. It stings, how distant they are. It feels like they’re on different corners of the universe.

“No.” Harry’s voice is tired and a little sad. His eyes look impossibly tired. “Not yet, but I will soon.” 

Louis latches on to those words. Tucks them away for a later time.

*

Louis lets Harry sleep in his bed.

He doesn’t press the issue, but he feels Harry’s disconnection. 

He leaves the room as Harry begins to take off his shirt. Louis closes the door softly, letting the click of the knob ring through the hallway.

Louis wants to talk to Liam. He wants to talk to anyone, but he knows he can’t. He can’t jump to conclusions. Instead, he lets his body accept the fact that Harry is back. His green eyes dull and his body shaken and near to the point of see through, but Louis doesn’t care.

Harry is back and Louis is willing to wait.

*

Louis slips into his room when he wakes up, eyes still tired and mouth tasting sharp from the mint toothpaste.

Harry is small in his bed, curled in on himself. His clothes are discarded on the floor, rumpled next to the bed. Louis lets himself sit on the edge. He watches the steady pull and push of Harry’s breath, the blankets moving.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Harry asks as he rolls over. His eyes are opened slightly, some of his curls covering his face.

Louis shrugs. “I wasn’t keeping count. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Will you be mad if I don’t tell you today?” Harry’s voice is quiet. It sounds shaky, like he’s trying to be strong but failing.

“No, but.” Louis closes his eyes. Takes a breath. “I just need you to know that I’m worried. It’s not everyday that someone disappears and then reappears like that, Harry.”

“I know, but.” Harry sits up this time. He’s changed into a different shirt. Louis notices that it’s one of his and his stomach curls, hot and heavy, and all he wants to do is take the shirt off Harry’s skin. Run his hands over Harry’s back and touch his shoulder blades, the curve of his spine. 

Louis presses the ball of his palm into his eye. Rubs sleep out, because he know today will be a long day. 

“I know.” Louis hears Harry take a breath. The sheets shuffle around. “You can’t tell me.”

“Not yet,” Harry supplies. Louis leans forward; he needs to feel Harry’s heat, his orbit, his everything in just that one tiny moment. Harry lets himself get collected in Louis’ confident arms, sighing into his neck as Louis presses him against the bed and keeps him caged there. 

I’ve missed you, Louis thinks. Harry’s chest settles down and they both ease.

*

Liam is quiet when Harry and Louis leave his room. They didn’t talk much in the confines of Louis’ room. Harry just kept breathing, his chest inhaling and exhaling and all Louis could do was touch the crease of Harry’s elbows to settle both himself and Harry.

Louis didn’t mention the month that Harry was gone. Didn’t mention how alone his chest felt without finding a message from Harry. Louis pushed away the thoughts of how much he missed Harry’s touch, how sometimes he would think about Harry’s hands on his skin, searing and burning and branding. No, he doesn’t mention that, because Harry is here, right now, and all Louis can do is hold on and hope that Harry is held tight enough to not slip away.

“You look like shit,” Liam says with a small tentative tug at his lips. Louis can see the parental side coming out in Liam. He knows he has questions to ask, especially since Harry is actually real and not some figment of Louis’ drunken mind.

Louis settles Harry down on his seat, rubs his back once or twice for good measure. It feels nice to have Harry lean back into the touch just a little bit. 

“Thanks.” Louis’ smile is sarcastic. Cheeky.

“No problem.” Liam smiles back. He turns slightly, looking over to Harry. “So, you’re the famous Harry that everyone has been hearing about, but never seeing.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, his smile more cautious than anything. Louis can see Liam straighten up, ready to the point of protection. “That’s me. I’m the elusive Harry.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” The silent ‘hope you don’t leave again’ is heavy in the air. Harry’s shoulders slump a little bit. 

Louis sits next to Harry, his hand hovering to touch his knee, but instead curls it into himself, instead. They’ve done enough touching, Louis reminds himself, swallows it down.

*

Harry is quiet. He’s quiet in the space of sitting at the kitchen table, to Liam leaving, and then to Louis giving him cereal to eat. Louis watches him chew and swallow. His skin doesn’t look so see through now. His cheeks are defined now, his arms stronger. Louis wonders how long they’ve gone without seeing one another, but he knows. He knows exactly how long.

“I’m sorry I took your shirt.” Harry plays with the collar.

“It’s fine.”

“I just. I couldn’t find anything else and I was tired –“

“Harry, it’s fine, really.”

Harry settles. His eyes wide and green, but they’re not happy and they’re not searching. They’re upset. Upset and guarded in the way that makes Louis want to hold him close, feel his fleeting heartbeat underneath his bones just to know that somewhere, deep in the organs, there is still the Harry that giggled like he didn’t have enough air in his lungs.

“I know you’re worried.”

“Obviously I’m-“

“But.” Harry cuts him off, his voice fragile and deeper than Louis remembers it to be. “I just want to thank you for not pushing me, yet.” 

Something pinches at Louis’ chest, rushes through his body and makes everything numb. He wants to ask why, run his fingers through Harry’s hair, and dive into his body and find the answers himself.

“I’ll wait,” Louis, responds, his hand curling around Harry’s wrist. He can feel the thumping there; it’s defiant and marching on. Everything Harry isn’t right now. “Until you’re ready.”

*

Harry is sleeping – like he has been majority of the day – when Liam comes home and sits down with Louis.

“He seems nice.”

“He is.”

“But.”

“But.” Louis looks down at his hands and then up at Liam. Liam who is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, looking in the direction of Louis’ room.

“How long do you think he’ll have to stay?” Liam’s voice is curious, but not cautious. He knows not to read lines when it comes to Louis anymore. If he did, he would never get answers.

“I don’t know.” Louis shrugs, his eyes not focusing on Liam. He hates talking like this – serious – and especially with Liam who is nothing but serious when it comes things like this. Louis needs him, though, wouldn’t be anywhere without him.

Liam straightens out on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He blinks a few times, takes a few breaths and waits for Louis to speak again.

“He hasn’t told me anything. I just know that he’s scared and I’m not going to force it out of him. The last thing I need is for him to be scared.”

“Especially since you’re in love with him.” Liam’s tone isn’t questioning. Louis feels his heart stutter, his cheeks flame.

“Yeah, especially that.” 

“He can stay,” Liam’s eyes soften around the edges.

“Thank you,” Louis says and feels a breath escape him that feels like it’s been trapped for far too long.

*

Harry wakes up and finds Louis.

“I need to shower.”

“Right,” Louis says, getting off the couch. Liam looks at Harry, not questioning or pushing boundaries. That’s the good thing about Liam, knowing when to back off and to let things unfold.

Louis leads Harry to the small bathroom and Harry turns.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been alone with you, hasn’t it?” He tries for joking, but his eyes are heavy and his voice is sluggish.

“We’re still not alone.” Louis nods his head to where Liam is sitting, the volume on the TV increasing. 

Harry takes Louis’ hand, his fingers cautious as it wraps around Louis’ wrist and tugs him in the bathroom. Louis flips the switch on and locks the lock. 

“Planning on staying?” Harry asks, dropping Louis’ hand. He turns around and throws off his shirt.

Louis doesn’t answer his question. He steps closer into Harry’s space, a silent question of whether or not he can touch Harry in the air and Harry responds by looking at him through the mirror. His eyes are darker now.

Harry’s skin isn’t translucent when Louis touches it, pressing his front against Harry’s back. His fingers follow the curve of Harry’s back, his lips ghosting over the edge of his shoulder blade. Louis catches the twinkle of Harry’s necklaces in the bathroom, all three tangled on long chains. 

“I’ve never seen your necklaces before,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s shoulder blade. Their eyes catch in the mirror. Harry’s jaw is clenched, his collarbones jutted in sharp lines that the shadows flood in.

“They don’t mean anything now.”

Louis knows this a clue, a line thrown to him to catch and tug further. He won’t refuse it.

“What did they mean then?”

Louis is focused on the Harry in the mirror. Harry with his small and thin chest, with his hands rested at his sides, with these necklaces that seem to weigh him down more than Louis can imagine.

“Do you believe in God?” Harry’s eyes aren’t looking into the mirror anymore. Instead they’re down casted, his eyelashes throwing shadows on his cheekbones. 

Louis moves away from Harry and turns him around. He leads Harry to sit on the counter of the sink and turns to the shower on. He knows the water will run cold and Liam will complain, but right now, they need to be in their secret world, in the world where only the two of them exist.

“Ask again,” Louis breaths out. He doesn’t touch Harry, just looks at him.

“Do you believe in God?” Harry fingers at the golden Cross.

“It’s complicated,” Louis supplies. Harry nods and catches Louis’ eyes for a second and then looks down. He looks small here, bones bunched together and protecting him like Louis is going to hurt him. It makes Louis’ chest constrict.

“My parents.” Harry’s fingers stop toying with the Cross. “My parents believe in God, you know? I mean, I do, too, but.” He stops himself, closes his eyes and takes a breath. Louis holds onto it for him. “But I told them about you. I said your name and it sounded like an exhale of breath and they just—“

“Harry—“

“No,” Harry’s hands ball into fists. Louis can see the knuckles turning white like bone. “No, please. I need to finish. I need to tell you.” 

Louis leans in, places his hand next to Harry’s thigh on the counter. He can hear Harry’s breathing, and Harry leans in to him, his warmth spreading like a sickly sweat.

“They told me I was an abomination, Louis.” Harry’s voice is broken and quiet. Louis expects for Harry to be crying, but all he sees are Harry’s wax white knuckles and the Cross sitting on Harry’s bare and thin chest. 

Louis’ hand cups over Harry’s wrist, his fingers pressing against Harry’s determined pulse and his fragile bones. He wants to push into Harry, take away all of his hurt and the words and the scars. He wants it all, would gladly take it if he could have his wide green-eyed boy again. 

“You’re not, you’re not, you’re not,” Louis chants. His head is bent, looking at their hands clasped together. The shower roars on and the world continues to shrink until it’s only the two of them. 

“I wasn’t allowed to see you.” Harry’s voice sounds wet. “I wasn’t allowed to go outside because they knew the world was corrupting me. I needed to see you again, I wanted to call you, talk to you. Have you.” The words become jumbled and pleading. Harry’s voice is still rough, but his hand loosens in Louis’ grip.

“I’ll give myself to you, I’ll let you take.” Louis shakes his head. He looks at Harry, in his eyes. They’re wide and gleaming green, but there are no tears. His lips are impossibly red and Louis surges against his restraint and his worry and kisses him.

“I’ll give myself to you.” He promises against Harry’s lips, his fingers curling around Harry’s gold chain and pulling Harry towards him, needing him close. Their chests meet, and all Louis can feel is the steady thump of Harry’s heart. “I’ll give anything to have you.”

The water is still warm – not for long, but still – when Harry tugs Louis in with him, their clothes a pile on the floor. The shower is small and Louis feels Harry all around him. He traces the curve of Harry’s back, his skin spread thin and in this light; Louis swears that Harry is see-through. 

Harry is easy under Louis’ touch as he swipes his hands over the curve of his spine, touching each knob with his fingertips. Harry’s shoulders are long and sloping, easy to trace. Louis’ hands feel too big on Harry, though, with his weak gasps as Louis presses his fingertips to the joint of Harry’s jaw.

They kiss underneath the spray of water. Harry’s hands pressing Louis close to him. Louis keeps his hand on Harry’s chest, feeling his heart race and the curve of his ribs. 

The water turns cold and even then they sneak kisses, edging away from the spray. Harry tastes like all the things that Louis has kept buried in his chest. He tastes sweet and his lips are wine red when they pull away and get out of the shower. 

Harry’s eyes are lighter then and Louis thinks: _yes, I’ll get you back_.

*

They smell like soap and Harry’s hands are pruned as they run their hands over Louis’ skin.

“I’ve wanted-“ Harry closes his eyes and presses his fingertips deep into Louis’ ribs. Louis takes a breath, breaks the silence with his white noise. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”

The confession is quiet, and all that Louis sees is Harry’s wide green eyes, standing there in the room.

*

Zayn and Niall are sitting at the kitchen table when Louis comes out with Harry behind him. The sun is bright, and Louis’ eyes feel sore as they readjust to the light.

“Who are they?” Harry whispers. He breaths out and Louis feels a shiver creep up his spine. Harry takes his hand and wraps tight around Louis’ own.

“Don’t be scared,” Louis whispers back. 

Niall and Zayn look at Harry, craning their necks slightly. Liam is looking at the two of them, a small-amused smile on his features, his eyes reflecting the sunlight.

“Do you think that’s him?” Niall asks, his eyes focused on the side of Zayn’s face. 

Zayn doesn’t turn around, but rolls his eyes slightly. “Obviously, who else would it be?”

Niall chews on his piece of toast and looks up. He smiles and then asks: “So, who's the lad, Louis?”

“Harry,” Harry, himself, supplies. He steps away from Louis’ back, his fingers slipping away from his wrist.

Zayn nods his head very lazily, in the way that he only seems capable of doing. “You’re a lot taller than I thought you would be.” 

Niall nods, agreeing. 

Harry smiles and asks, “How short did you think I was?”

“Well, shorter or the same height as Louis.” 

Harry laughs and Louis feels his chest clench. It vibrates along the walls and it’s the first time that it seems like Harry has taken enough breath to let it out.

They eat breakfast, all together, and Harry picks at Liam’s food and pouts when Liam slaps his hand away. Louis hooks his ankle around Harry’s midway through, and they all pretend they don’t see the shy smile on Harry’s face as he leans down, eating more.

*

Niall and Zayn don’t stay long, insisting that they take Liam out because he’s been stuck inside for too long.

It’s overwhelming the first few minutes when Louis is finally alone with Harry, after Liam closed the door and Niall’s loud laughter faded away as they walked further down the hallway.

Harry simply stands there, long and skinny and so beautiful that Louis has to ball his hands into fists so he doesn’t take and take. 

“You’re staring,” Harry mumbles – slow, always slow – with a small smile on his face. His curls are pressed down and lazy from sleeping.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Louis explains. “In the morning, like this. Not hung over or already gone.”

Harry walks over to Louis, his body blocking out the sun from the windows. His hands are burning as they curl around Louis’ shoulders and squeeze, just tender enough that it makes Louis release a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You make it sound like I’m beautiful.” Harry’s voice is quiet.

“You are.” Louis blinks lazily up at him, smiling his own tired, small smile. 

Harry pulls on Louis’ hands, insisting that he get up and Louis follows. Harry leads him back to the bedroom. The door closed and locked.

“Do you have to go anywhere today?” Harry asks. 

“Work later.”

“How much later?” Harry asks as he pushes Louis down on the bed.

Louis shrugs, smiling a bit. “In the afternoon.”

Harry kisses Louis, back bending forward, hands in loose fists around the bed sheets. His legs are warm around Louis’ waist, and their kiss is wet – Harry never stops licking his lips – taking lazy swipes. 

Louis takes his time, getting rid of the taste of breakfast and toothpaste until it’s dull and all he can taste is Harry’s skin and lips and everything that makes his chest clench so tightly. 

“Want you,” Harry breaths against Louis’ lips, his hands moving from the blanket to Louis’ wrists and wrapping tight around the veins and pressing. It feels like a branding, searing into Louis’ skin until their pulses and heartbeats are pounding in inconsistent beats, fighting out one another.

Louis opens his eyes. Harry is still pressed up against him, their lips centimeters apart. All he gets are blurry patches of Harry’s face and his curls tickling the barest edges of his cheeks.

“You’re still forbidden and all that,” Louis jokes, his hands laying flat on the bed. He can feel his pulse thumping deep and heavy from each finger. Harry’s grip tightens for a few seconds, and then loosens, like breathing.

Harry giggles against Louis’ lips, back to breathless and Louis keeps his eyes open. Takes in the view of Harry’s ear through his blurred vision and the lazy tiny curls around his ear, almost blooming like flowers. He smells like fruit and soap. All the clean things in the house and in that instant Louis realizes that Harry is slowly becoming home. So slowly in such quick days that it makes Louis close his eyes and press against Harry’s hands, urging him to unwrap his long and hot fingers from across his wrists. He’s been branded enough.

Once Harry relents his grip, his fingers ghosting along the sides of Louis’ stomach instead. They break apart every few seconds, lips still close to one another, their breaths wet. Louis slips his hand underneath Harry’s shirt and trails each knob of his spine. Taps and lingers and feels each pointed slope until he reaches the base of Harry’s neck and squeezes once. He imagines branding Harry, his fingers hot on the pulse that screams and yearns for a touch and maybe even for love.

“Louis,” Harry pants, his voice quiet and lips ruby red when he leans up, his eyes green and gleaming from the morning sun. Louis’ hands slips from Harry’s neck and presses into his hipbones, holding him there.

Harry gasps, a tiny noise that vibrates along the walls. Louis closes his eyes. _This is what love sounds like_ , he thinks, as presses his fingertips into the defined grooves of Harry’s hipbones.

*

Harry asks Louis of one thing, in the middle of the night.

Louis’ fingers edge along Harry’s walkway of ribs. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry’s voice is quiet in the darkness. Louis closes his eyes slowly. His hands stall.

“Yeah.”

“I need something of you,” Harry whispers, his body shifting down so he’s face to face with Louis, their noses just touching. “You can say no, of course. I need you to know that.”

“Harry?” Louis asks.

“There’s so much stuff that I left behind.” Harry sounds so close but Louis keeps his eyes closed, his hands stay unmoving. “I can’t go back there, but I can’t leave that life behind, too. Do you understand?”

Louis nods. Doesn’t trust his voice.

“Louis, answer me.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Louis’ voice sounds steady. He closes his eyes tighter. He doesn’t want to think of picking up Harry’s life piece by piece. Wonders if he’ll be able to get all the right things and leave the things that will hurt. 

Louis opens his eyes and grabs for Harry. Harry accepts his touch and presses his face into his neck. Louis holds him, through the shaking and the sleeping.

*

Harry tells Louis the address into the crook of his neck the next morning.

Louis feels like puking throughout the morning, waving bye when Harry picks up his backpack on the couch and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“Aren’t you two quite domesticated,” Liam jokes. There’s a tiny smile on his face, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup of tea.

“Shut up,” Louis says, trying for a smile, but his insides ache. 

Liam looks at him, knowingly, and Louis sometimes hates how easily Liam knows things so well. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing. No, nothing, really.”

“Louis,” Liam presses, setting his cup on the table. Liam’s jaw is tense.

“I have to go by his house.” Louis crosses his arms across his chest. “He doesn’t want to leave that life completely behind.”

Liam doesn’t ask Louis to look at him. Doesn’t ask him why he said yes or anything at all. He just picks up his tea and sips.

“Why are you so scared then?” 

“I’m not scared.” Louis turns his head sharply. “I’m not scared, I’m just-“

“Scared.” 

Louis deflates. Plays with the sleeves of his sweater. It smells like Harry.

“What if he realizes that this is a bad idea or something?” Liam opens his mouth, but Louis shakes his head. 

“I’m just.” Louis presses his palm against his forehead, presses to try and ease the ache behind his eyes. “I know he wouldn’t, but I can’t help but think that he’ll see all of those things that I’ll get and he’ll want to try and go back and fix whatever happened.” Louis trains his voice to stay calm, but he knows his eyes are betraying him. They always have. 

Liam moves from his chair to the one closest to Louis, the one Harry usually sits in. Their knees press together, and Louis reaches for Liam’s hand, their fingers twining together. Liam’s hands are different than Harry’s, the skin more worn and dry. 

“It’s okay to be scared. Your life has been sort of a shit show lately, hasn’t it?” 

Louis laughs, unexpected, pushes through his lungs without his consent. He keeps laughing, bubbling in his throat. 

“It is.” Louis laughs, his heart pounding against his rib cage. “It really fucking is, but.”

“But?”

“I wouldn’t change it,” Louis confesses. He imagines toying with Harry’s golden cross. The way his eyes glitter green in the sun. “Not for anything.”

*

Harry’s house is small and homely from the outside. Louis lets out a sigh of relief, watching the cloud of white push out of his lungs and into the air. His finger runs over the key that Harry had handed to him, digging through the pocket of his backpack in the early morning before leaving for school.

“Here goes nothing,” Louis mumbles to himself. His hand is shaking slightly when he wraps it around the doorknob, playing it off as the cold and not the nerves that are twisting his insides in and out, to the point where he wants to throw up. 

Louis turns the door slowly, pushing it open as it creaks. The house smells like cleaner and the walls are cream colored. It reminds Louis of his home, only without the four sisters running around, giggling so loud to the point of their lungs giving out.

Harry’s room is on the end of the hallway to the right. The walls are white, but there are posters hanging up and pictures tacked to the wall. It seems like nothing has been touched. There’s dust collecting over books and the desktop where Harry’s laptop lays, the cover closed. There’s an Apple sticker suctioned to the top.

Louis opens the closet and finds the suitcase that Harry told him about. Louis knows he has to be sensible about this, and grabs the laptop on the desk and places it in the bag, carefully along with the charger. He piles clothes inside – even though Harry is getting used to wearing Louis’ shirts – and the rest of his school books. 

Louis focuses in on the wall again, mainly the tiny section with the pictures tacked on. Louis sees Harry with his family – stepfather, mother, and sister – and he grabs it without thinking and tears it off the wall. He collects the rest of them and places them in between the pairs of jeans and shirts he’s packed. 

The sky is getting darker when Louis looks out. He grabs for things blindly, shoving them in without a care because this is Harry’s life. This is Harry’s life packed into one suitcase that won’t ever return. The dust flies around the room and the bed sheets are messed around, like someone decided to sleep on top of them. Louis doesn’t smooth them out because it looks better, like Harry will come back, but they all know he won’t.

_Abomination_ runs through Louis’ mind in Harry’s deep voice. It runs through his veins and punches at his bones. Harry’s parents would’ve said that to him, too. Wouldn’t accept them together, and that makes it easier for Louis to zip the bag and leave the key on the counter. It makes it easier for Louis to know that Harry is meant to be with him, in his little flat with Liam and Niall and Zayn. They’re a family now, and when Louis closes the front door and walks to the bus stop, he doesn’t feel guilty. Not a little bit, not at all.

*

Harry is studying at the dinner table when Louis gets back, his fingers numb.

“Liam called,” Harry says, not looking up from one of his textbooks. “Said he’ll be home later from work and that I should cook because I can’t trust you.”

Louis laughs, his fingers warming as he puts the suitcase down. Harry is focused on the text, one hand in his hair and the other writing notes in his lazy scrawl. Louis wonders if there’s anything that Harry can do that isn’t half asleep.

“I got your stuff,” Louis says. The room goes quiet for a few seconds, like the walls have inhaled all the air and noise. Harry looks up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s right here.” Louis points. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack.

Harry stands, looking at the suitcase. 

“It’s not going to move itself,” Louis jokes. Harry smiles softly – sadly – picks up the bag and heads for Louis’ room.

“Sorry it’s a bit wet.” Harry sets it down on the floor by the foot of the bed. “The rain and all.”

Harry motions for Louis to sit down next to him. Louis does as he’s told, can never say no to Harry whenever he gets the courage to ask for something.

“I tried to get all of the things I thought you would need,” Louis explains as Harry begins to unzip the bag and flips the top open. His fingers curl around the edge, nails scratching against the texture.

“Harry?” Louis asks, his hand hovering over Harry’s back. He doesn’t know if it’s right to touch him, but Harry leans back, relaxes.

“I just didn’t think this would actually happen, I guess.” Harry’s eyes move over each item of clothing that Louis piled in. His fingers graze over the shirts, the small trinkets. Anything his hands can touch.

Harry isn’t looking at Louis as he says, “This is my whole life packed away in one simple bag. I’m in this whole entire bag, Louis.”

Louis’ hand curls into Harry’s – no, not Harry’s, his own – shirt, keeps him anchored there. Harry’s eyes are wet, his body pulsing up and down quickly, trying to keep in the breaths that want to escape.

“Harry. Harry, it’s okay to-“

“No, no it’s not. It’s not, because they wouldn’t feel bad.” Harry takes a breath, tries to calm his stuttering chest. “They wouldn’t care. They didn’t care when they kicked me out, I-“ Harry stops himself, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and presses.

Louis wraps his hands around Harry’s arms, pulls them down and makes Harry look at him.

“Look at me. Harry, I need you to look at me.” 

Harry’s eyes are innocent and wet and too green that it feels like someone is punching Louis’ stomach repeatedly.

Louis wraps himself around Harry, pressing him impossibly close to his chest. Harry doesn’t sob, let the emotions rake throughout his body until he feels raw and hollowed out. 

No, instead, he takes breaths. Lets the tears damp a spot on Louis’ shirt. Louis closes his eyes, kisses Harry’s hair, and runs his fingers over his shaking arms and his spine.

“It’ll be okay.” Louis kisses Harry’s head once. “I’m your family now, okay? I’m all you need.”

Harry kisses Louis. Their teeth click together and it’s painful, but Louis clutches to Harry, opens his mouth with his tongue and Harry accepts him. Louis pushes Harry down on the floor, the suitcase close to them, holding it’s weight and it’s doubt and the past that Harry wants to run away from.

“I need you,” Harry pants, his hands tugging at Louis’ shirt, urgent to get it off. Louis lets him, tosses his hat to the side as he does so. Their kisses are hurried, passionate. It says everything that they can’t, the room heavy with promises that taste of skin and soap and tears and thick with emotion.

They move from the floor to the bed, their legs tumbling together, arms tangling. Harry’s hair splays out, his curls getting longer and longer with each passing day. His chest is thin and heaving, only clad in the pair of boxer brief’s he borrowed off of Louis’, his erection barely concealed through the fabric.

“Please,” He begs. Louis nods his head, kisses Harry’s neck and sucks a mark on the skin. It tastes sweet and all Louis sees when he pulls away are the striking blue veins that press against Harry’s skin, begging to get ripped out of his skin and laid bare.

“I need, I need,” Harry babbles, his hands toying with the sheets, not daring hold Louis down.

“I know,” Louis says once he’s struck out of his trance of looking at the love bite bruise and swell on Harry’s sensitive neck. “I know what you need.”

Louis takes his time traveling from Harry’s neck to the hem of his boxer briefs. He kisses Harry’s stomach just to feel and hear him suck in a shocked breath. Louis presses his hand down on Harry’s leg, fingers grappling him to the sheets when he gets low enough. 

“I’m going to make you feel good,” Louis pants, damping the material. Harry moans again, doesn’t utter a please or anything. He knows. “I’m going to make you realize that I’m your home.” 

Harry is already leaking when Louis takes off his boxers, slowly. He’s still struck by watching the red blossom on Harry’s right hip, the same color that is on Harry’s tense neck and shoulder dip.

Louis fumbles off the bed, leaving Harry naked and needy on the sheets. He locks the door – never can be too sure – and takes off his own boxers as he heads to the drawer and gets out the lube.

Louis settles in between Harry’s legs, pressing a kiss to his kneecap, and then pressing his leg down. Harry takes the hint and puts them both down, and Louis spreads them wider, making sure to spread them as wide as possible.

It’s a sight too much for Louis, palming at himself just to leave off some of the pressure that seeing Harry needy and spread out and his on the bed. 

He slicks up his fingers as Harry pants, his lips red and eyes burning bright green. The necklaces are stuck to his chest and his hair is still fanned out, his jaw line pronounced from how clenched it is.

“It’s going to be cold,” Louis warns. Harry doesn’t seem to register it, just lets his hand wander down his stomach and press his palm against the head, letting pre-come bead through the head and spill through. 

Harry sucks in a breath when Louis sneaks a finger inside. Presses his hand harder on Harry’s outstretched thigh and says, “Relax. I need you to relax, okay?”

Louis wiggles around, crooking and turning. Harry’s hips shift off the bed, trying to find friction in the air. Harry’s cheeks and neck are red, his eyes hooded and impossibly dark. Louis wants to take him, have him, and keep him to himself. 

Instead, he takes his finger away and Harry whines, low in his throat. Louis’ pushes at Harry’s thigh, tells him to roll over. 

“It might hurt again.” Louis presses on Harry’s tailbone, hand warm and reassuring. His voice is gentle. “I just need you to relax, Harry.”

Harry nods against the pillow, arms pillowing his head. Louis pushes two fingers inside, and he sees out of the corner of his eye how Harry clutches the sheets. He lets out a biting moan, voice heated with a little bit of pain.

“Louis,” He breathes wetly into the pillow. Louis pushes on Harry’s tailbone, his way of telling Harry to calm down. He feels Harry relax, let out a shaky breath and his fingers unclench.

Louis lets his two fingers press hot around Harry, feeling the suffocating tightness around him. Harry begs for more, his hips finding friction in the bed sheets, his moans becoming choked. 

Slipping in the third and last finger, Louis leans down and bites at the skin above the swell of Harry’s ass, watching the red bloom instantly.

Harry moans, toes curling and comes with a choked noise lost in his throat as Louis fingers his prostate and then once again. 

Louis lets himself go from that, the way Harry’s back arches and then sinks into the sheets. The apples of his cheeks are pinked and his eyes emerald green, drooping steadily to a close. 

“Did you just cum on my back?” Harry breaths, disgusted. 

Louis gets off the bed quickly, feeling the pins and needles run up his calves and constrict around his muscles. He wipes the cum off of Harry’s back and his own torso and hand with his t-shirt, and makes sure to remind himself to throw it away before Liam washes the clothes for the week.

They slump together, bodies tired and cheeks pinked. Louis kisses Harry lazily, too tired to try to make the effort.

“Feel like home yet?” Louis asks, voice dimmed down to a whisper. Their lips don’t kiss, just hovering close to one another, taking in each other’s breath.

“Getting there,” Harry answers truthfully, his eyes slipping close.

*

Everyone helps Harry with taking his things out of his suitcase.

Mostly Harry hangs in the back, his hands wrapped around his body to keep them from shaking. 

Danielle smiles at him and takes him to the kitchen, promising to make him tea to calm him down.

“She likes him.” 

Louis looks up at Liam, his hands ceasing their folding of one of Harry’s shirts. 

“Does she?” Louis asks. He feels like a child.

Liam smiles a bit. Opens the emptied drawer on Louis’ dresser. 

“Yeah, she thinks the whole thing is sort of romantic.”

“It’s because she’s a girl,” Zayn pipes in. Niall bumping shoulders with him, and nods his head in agreement. “Girls always end up liking that sort of stuff. The wounded kid finding love and stuff, that’s why all those chick flicks sell.”

Louis goes back to folding Harry’s shirt and handing it over to Niall. 

“Too bad this isn’t a movie,” Louis answers. He runs a hand through his hair. “It would make everything easier on him, at least.” 

Harry’s hand never stopped shaking when they went to bed. His breathing evened, but he curled so tightly into Louis’ body that he thought they were becoming one. That Harry wanted to hide into his body, and Louis would gladly take it. His hurt or worries or pain, anything. Louis would take it.

Harry comes in a few minutes later, the silence comfortable as they continue to unpack.

“Let me,” Harry whispers to Louis. Their eyes connect for a few seconds, and Louis lets Harry grab the shirt and fold it himself. 

Eventually, the room empties out until it’s just the two of them. Louis moving up and down as Harry hands him each articles of clothing and setting all the small trinkets aside, some of them catching the light from the window.

“I never said thank you.”

“For?”

“For doing this,” Harry nods his head toward the suitcase. His hands look like they’ve calmed down. Louis mentally remembers to thank Danielle. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did.” Louis looks at Harry’s profile. His cheeks more defined than before and the love bite he has no shame in hiding half revealed, blooming like a rose. “This is your life in here, and besides, I couldn’t have you living off my clothes forever.”

Harry smiles, small and nervous. He looks at Louis, eyes wide and even they’re growing up, no longer so bright and innocent. He leans in and kisses Louis, a simple press of their lips and Harry drops his shirt. Lets his hands press on Louis’ chest, their eyes slipping shut.

It promises many things – maybe too many – but Louis holds on. 

They go back to folding and putting away. An easy rhythm until Harry finds the pictures. 

“Why did you take these?” Harry asks, his voice urgent. 

Louis turns and looks at Harry. His back is arched and his hands are shaking again. His fingertips are white, pressing onto the card that it seems like his fingers will break.

“I thought you’d want them.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice is shaking.

Louis settles next to him. He cups his palms over Harry’s and rubs his thumb over the skin, trying to get him to loosen them over the pictures. The first one is of his mother and sister, smiling with their hair in their face.

“Harry, I need you to let go.” Louis looks into Harry’s eyes. “I need you to let them go so I can put them somewhere.”

“No, I don’t want them.” Harry lets go of the pictures, letting them flop and scatter across the floor. “They don’t want me, so why would I want them?”

“Harry,” Louis exhales noisily. “Keep this one, at least.” Louis picks up the picture of Harry’s mother and his sister. Their faces smiling, arms wrapped around one another, their skin sun kissed.

“Why should I?” Harry fights back. His cheeks are red and his lips even redder. 

“You talk about them sometimes, in your sleep.” Harry’s face falls when Louis says that. He looks down at the picture.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. He swallows, the love bite on his throat bobbing up and down. “Okay, I’ll keep this one.”

Louis kisses Harry again, and presses their foreheads together.

“Come on, we need to finish.”

*

They have pizza for dinner, Danielle insisting as she makes another cup of tea for Harry, rubbing his back in small circles.

“Liam, your girlfriend is really nice.” Harry smiles - all teeth - cheekily at her as she laughs. 

“Right, my girlfriend, Harry,” Liam jokes.

Niall and Zayn fight for the last slice of pizza, eventually with Zayn peeling off the crust and tossing it on Niall’s plate.

“Hey, I have some party favors,” Niall says after he’s swallowed down the last piece of crust. He grabs his coat and fishes through the pocket, taking out a small baggy and tossing it on the middle of the table.

“You got pot?” Liam asks, eyebrow raised and lips pouting a bit.

“Well,” Niall shrugs and bumps shoulders with Zayn. “Zayn and I got it. I just had to hold it because I have better pockets.”

Zayn snorts. “I thought we’d all need to loosen up a bit because.” Zayn stops himself and they all hum in agreement.

“It’s going to reek, we need to open the windows,” Louis decides. He gets up and opens the window in the living room adjoined with the kitchen. The cold air rushes in, taking comfort in the brightly lit apartment room.

Liam and Danielle leave while Louis goes to his room and finds his bowl. 

“You’ve had that in your room the whole time?” Harry asks. They’ve moved to the couch now, Harry moving his legs to let Louis sit next to him. Niall hands the lighter over to Louis who packs the bowl.

“I thought you would’ve seen it before.” Louis lights up, inhaling the smoke until his body feels full with it. He passes the bowl over to Zayn and looks at Harry.

He tugs him closer by his necklaces and Harry falls easily into him, their lips pressed together. Harry opens cautiously, letting Louis’ tongue curl around the seam of his opened lips and the smoke getting inhaled by his needy mouth. 

“You’re sinning, Harry,” Louis whispers. His voice is dark, teasing, and Harry makes a small noise in his throat, tilting his head just slightly and hoping that Louis will get the hint and give him what he’s been craving for all day.

“Are we interrupting?” Zayn intrudes, passing the bowl over to Louis. 

Harry laughs and takes the bowl from Louis’ hands. “My turn.”

They shot gun back and forth, Louis wrapping his hand around Harry’s neck and pressing his thumb against the sharp curve of Harry’s jawbone. They smell like smoke and they turn the TV up louder once they begin to hear thumping from Liam’s room.

Niall and Zayn move from the couch to the chair next to it, squishing together and finishing the bowl off, making grabby hands and taking greedy breaths. Their laughter fills the air.

Harry pushes Louis down on the couch, lying on top of his chest. Louis’ fingers comb through Harry’s curls, sometimes his fingers getting caught in the tangles of his dark hair. Louis watches as Harry’s head rises and falls in time with his breaths. It’s like time is in slow motion and for once, Harry doesn’t shake or look scared.

The TV is loud and the sun is setting. Harry moves up Louis’ chest until he obstructs Louis’ view of the television and Louis moves his head back slightly. Harry focuses in slightly, his eyes heavily hooded and mouth open.

Louis fumbles with Harry’s necklaces, the metal warming around his hands quickly, like it’s been missing his warmth. He hears Harry laugh quietly, exhaling and inhaling slowly, like he needs to think about it.

“Are you going to take the chance?” Harry asks, repeating the same words he said the first time they touched. 

Louis just keeps breathing and hears Niall snort and Zayn’s giggles, muffled, his face must be pressed into Niall’s neck. He kisses Harry, his hand wrapping tight around Harry’s neck, his fingers getting lost in his tangles of curls. Harry opens his mouth with a breath and a needy noise, and Louis takes. Takes and takes and takes because he’s given so much that he feels like he’s about to burn out.

“Thank you,” Harry says against Louis’ lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Anything,” Louis promises, his voice thick. He grabs onto Harry’s arm, curling his fingers around his elbow and squeezing, tight. “Anything, Harry. I promise.”

*

*Days turn to weeks and Harry begins to ease into the apartment more. He leaves his clothes lying around and sometimes forgets to clear the kitchen table of his schoolbooks. He slips into the shower with Louis at night, giggling against his lips and falling quietly when Louis washes his hair and trails his fingers down his spine.

They haven’t done much past that one night, but Louis opens Harry up. Uses his fingers and kisses Harry to quiet him when it’s the middle of the night, their hips seeking friction and needing. Harry is easy to please, and doesn’t push despite biting on Louis’ lips and sucking on his skin. He doesn’t push the boundaries. 

The world keeps spinning past them, though, and eventually it turns into December and Louis has to take the task on to look for Christmas gifts.

“I hate this,” Louis mumbles to himself one night, looking through Amazon to try and find something. He knows what to get the rest of the guys and they all usually collaborate on a gift for Danielle because she really only cares about what Liam gets her anyway.

“What do you hate?” Liam asks, closing his book and leaning closer into Louis’ space on the couch.

“Finding gifts.” Louis scrubs his eyes. Harry is in their room, studying with the door closed. There’s music coming past the door, something light with lots of piano.

“Don’t try so hard. I tell you that every year.”

Louis rolls his eyes and scrolls down the pages, finding gifts that would be good, but it’s not that. It’s that he wants to find something that Harry will be able to cherish and know means something.

Liam moves away and goes back to reading his book.

“What did you get?”

“I can’t tell you, that ruins the surprise.”

“You don’t have to tell me what you got me,” Louis stresses, blinking his eyes and trying to persuade Liam.

“You’re a big boy, Louis.” Liam smiles. “Besides, all of our gifts work as both birthday and Christmas gifts, anyway, don’t they?”

Louis pouts. “I hate when you all do that, though. They’re two different holidays.”

“You should’ve made friends with people who can afford showering you in luxuries then.”

Louis closes his computer.

“I’m going to go check up on Harry,” Louis says, getting up and tucking the laptop underneath his armpit.

“Alright,” Liam says, not looking up from his book.

Harry is studying when Louis opens the door, the music louder from the inside.

“Turn it down,” Louis says, coming up behind Harry and leaning over his shoulder and pressing the volume button to turn it down. “Not everyone here is young and lively like you.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was aiding in you becoming deaf.”

Louis falls onto his bed. Suddenly too tired to actually try and talk. He’s been picking up more shifts at work and even picked up a second job on the weekends to help with money.

“What do you even plan on majoring in, Harry?” Louis asks, mostly to the ceiling. 

Harry shrugs and says, “I either want to be a teacher or a photographer, really.”

“That’s a bit broad, isn’t it?”

Harry goes back to scribbling in his notebook. “I like to keep my options very diverse, I suppose.”

Louis nods and closes his eyes, taking a breath.

“I want to be a teacher, too. Drama.”

"You think you'll be able to do that?"

"Yeah." Louis shrugs, feeling the sheets rumple underneath his shoulders. "Maybe one day."

Harry laughs, bright and easy. Louis hears books closing and a pencil fall onto the table before Harry is lying onto of Louis. He smells of shampoo and soap, his curls still damp from his shower.

“Open up your eyes, Tomlinson.”

Louis cracks one open and breaks out into a smile. Harry giggles a little bit, his weight heavy on Louis’ chest, but welcomed and loved. 

Louis rolls them over, Harry easily sliding off onto his side. He tangles his hand with one of Louis’ and kisses the pad of his thumb. 

 

Louis closes his eyes, the sheets too welcoming on the bed. He mumbles, “Did you finish your work?”

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson, I was a good boy today and did my work,” Harry says, his tone breathy and playful. 

“Good, let me go to sleep, now.” 

“You’re so boring,” Harry teases, his fingers slipping up Louis’ shirt. 

Harry has eased into being himself again, which Louis is glad for. His hands don’t shake from nerves and his skin is so translucent anymore – but still is as sweet as he thought it would be the first night they met – and he studies and plays by the rules because Liam had sat down with him and told him that there were conditions and rules in the house, and doing well in school was one of them. Harry then, in turn, laughed and said that Liam sounded like his father, but it wasn’t tinged with bitterness or fear, it was genuine happiness.

“Do you work this weekend?” Louis asks, Harry passing the time by playing with his hand. Harry also seems to be full of nervous energy before he goes to bed.

“I work every weekend, so, yeah.”

There are heavy bags weighing Harry down from his eyes. Louis kisses each eyelid, pressing gentle pressure. 

Harry falls asleep minutes later, his breathing even and hands relaxed. 

Louis turns the lights off and lies on top of the bed, collecting Harry’s sleeping form in his arms. He noses the short curls of Harry’s neck, kissing the fading love bite on Harry’s neck, falling asleep shortly after.

*

Louis walks Harry to the bakery the next morning. The sun is bright, but the air cool and Louis feels winter settle into his bones.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Harry reminds him. He’s been doing it more lately, reminding Louis that he’s not wounded anymore. Louis shrugs it off, because he sees Harry in private. Sometimes sees his eyes flicker to the picture that Harry keeps on their shared desk in Louis’ room and his eyes look too big and too sad. 

Louis smiles at him, sleepy still in the waking morning. “I need to do some Christmas shopping, anyway. Wanted to get that in early.”

“Oh, so you’re doing this for a convenience?”

“That and because I know you’ll give me a free blueberry muffin to eat, won’t you?” Louis smiles, all teeth. Harry shakes his head and knocks his hand against Louis’. He grabs it, wrapping tight.

The bakery is warm and the colors are homely. 

Harry gives Louis his blueberry muffin once he’s tied his apron across his chest and he checks in with the manager.

“Where’s my tip, Tomlinson?” Harry asks. 

Louis leans over, fingertips smudging the glass. He kisses Harry, both of them smiling shyly, their lips used to one another now.

“Good enough?” Louis asks, leaning back. The tiny bag his muffin in rustles a bit, disturbing the silence.

“It’ll have to do,” Harry laughs.

*

Harry kisses Louis awake on his birthday.

“Come on,” Harry whines, kissing Louis’ sharp collarbone, his teeth threatening to tease his skin. “You’re twenty four, and you’re sleeping it all away.”

“No, I’m not.” Louis rolls over, his back facing Harry. “I’m trying to get away from a grabby teenaged boy, is what I’m doing.”

“You’re turning into a grouchy old man, Tomlinson.”

Louis rolls over again. Harry is smiling and half away. His shirt looks warm and soft, and Louis wants to tuck his head in there and just sleep. 

“It’s my birthday and I can cry if I want to,” Louis mumbles, shuffling forward and pressing a good morning kiss onto Harry’s lips.

Harry shuffles away and mumbles, “Your breath is terrible right now.” He gets up after saying it, and turns around.

“I think Liam is going to make pancakes and Zayn and Niall are already here, so.”

“How long have you been up?” Louis asks. It’s raining outside and there’s a breeze from the open window.

Harry shrugs. “It doesn’t matter, come on. We all want to sing you happy birthday and then watch Christmas shows.”

“Can’t I brush my teeth first?” Louis mumbles, pressing his fist into his eyes and rubbing the sleep out of them.

*

The table is full of food, mainly bought and Danielle and Liam are bumping hips and laughing giddily like children as Liam helps her pour the batter in the pan.

“Look who’s finally up,” Niall greets. His mouth is full of pancake, syrup glistening on the side of his mouth.

Louis waves sleepily and hugs Danielle. 

“Did you stay the night?”

Danielle winks and then breaks out in giggles. The holidays always seem to get to her most.

“No, of course not. I came earlier because the studio is closed.” Danielle’s smile is all teeth and Liam's own smile is seen over her shoulder. His smile tells everything and Louis raises his eyebrows, asking the silent question.

“Stop having creepy eyebrow conversations,” Danielle pouts. She turns towards Harry, who seems to be picking at a pancake. Niall is dousing it in syrup, telling him that they’re best served like that.

“I’m going to get cavities,” Harry groans. He pushes the plate towards Niall. “How about you have this one? I’ll get another one.”

“That’s not Christmas spirit,” Niall says, his cheeks red and eyes bright. He nudges Zayn who seems to be taking his time chewing and hasn’t moved on from his one pancake. “Tell him the best way to eat pancakes, Zayn. Come on.”

“Niall,” Zayn says, very seriously. Harry is kind of intimated by Zayn and his eyebrows. “You eat everything. You’re not allowed to give advice if you can binge on Nando’s for a week straight.”

“Hey,” Louis calls. He sits next to Harry and gets a plate and two forks. “We can share a pancake.”

“Is this our new Christmas tradition?” Harry asks. His eyes are bright and his smiles giddy like a child. Louis’ never has seen Harry look quite like his age except in this moment. 

“Could be,” Louis shrugs, smiling the smile that Harry has deemed his ‘own’. Harry kisses him, quiet and serene, and Niall and Zayn catcall. 

Breakfast is a blur of plates being passed back and forth and lots of laughter, mostly between Niall and Harry. There are sweaters put on and reindeer antlers, as well. Louis is sort of surprised that they’re going all out, especially on Christmas Eve.

“It’s for him,” Liam whispers when Louis shoots him a look. He scoots closer and continues, “We just don’t want him to be upset. We don’t know what Christmas was like for Harry and we just want him to know that he’s with us. In our little fucked up family.” 

Louis’ smile is probably taking up his whole face and he can’t help before he envelops Liam in a hug. It’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can sense family in the air, how much it presses down on them.

“Are we all hugging?” Niall shouts across the table. He gets up and suddenly Louis feels a weight pressing behind him and smells syrup. There are a few shouts back and forth and suddenly Zayn is there, too.

Harry worms his way in and Danielle laughs, loud and bright like Harry’s eyes that Louis can see. 

“Family, right?” Harry asks, smiling with his teeth and dimples. Louis nods, his heart heavy and head clear. Family.

*

Harry tugs Louis away during the night. There’s Nando’s littered across the table and beer opened all around them. Liam’s cheeks are flushed and his hand sneaks up Danielle’s skirt, earning laughs from all of them.

“Happy birthday.” Harry kisses Louis in the hallway, pressing Louis against the wall. Louis feels older – is older – but when Harry pulls away, he can’t help but feel the tug in his body. Harry’s hair is longer and his eyes are getting sharper, wiser, and older. 

“Do you think I’m too old?” Louis asks, making sure to keep his voice down.

“You’re only twenty-four, not a big deal.”

Louis’ thuds his head back against the wall. “You’re only seventeen.”

“Hey,” Harry says, looping his fingers through Louis’ belt and pulling just slightly. “Eighteen in less than two months. I’ll be a big boy, then. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You should be doing that today,” Louis points out. The alcohol is swimming in his stomach, making his vision a little less focused and his hands a little more needy.

“I would,” Harry kisses Louis again, slowly and softly. “If I could.”

They spend a few minutes kissing lazily, hands linking together at their sides. 

“Come on,” Harry mouths against Louis’ lips. “I have something to give to you, birthday boy.”

They sit next to each other on the bed, their knees brushing against one another if they make movement. Harry leans down, looking underneath the bed. Louis stares at Harry’s pale skin. Skin that he’s touched, marked, had in the simplest and most skeleton of terms. His hands burn.

Harry has a small – very badly wrapped – bundle in his large hands. Everything around Louis is growing and he feels increasingly small, suffocated. He opens his hands, makes sure to extend his fingers out and grabs the package.

“Before you open it,” Harry starts, wrapping his long fingers around Louis’ wrists, pressing. “I need to tell you that I’m terrible at gifts, but when I saw these, I thought of us.”

“Us? I’m a bit nervous now that you say that,” Louis admits. He opens the package carefully, making sure to peel the tape off. 

“Did Liam help you with this? He would’ve done a better job.”

“This has _heart_ , Louis. I couldn’t ask anyone else to do this.” 

The gift themselves are small and Louis realizes that they’re bracelets. Little links held together by navy yarn. Louis sees Harry fidget out of the corner of his eye. He’s playing with his hands.

“Do you want me to explain or?”

“No, just give me your wrist first.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head and grabs one. “You first. It’s your birthday.”

Harry’s fingers fumble a bit – the buzz in them still persistent – but Louis feels the sparks whenever their skin connects. When Harry bends back up, mouth opened slightly and eyes slipped half way closed, Louis resists the urge to place Harry on the bed and trace every part of him.

“Now your turn?” Louis asks, his voice a bit low. Harry nods and holds his wrist out. Harry’s skin is warm – always is and probably always will be – and Louis takes his time. Takes his time because he’s a bit too drunk, and well, it is his birthday, he’s allowed.

“There,” Louis says, tying the string off. Harry shakes his hand around, trying to get used to the feeling.

“It’s just,” Harry starts, biting at the edge of his skin on his middle finger. “I wanted us to always be together, just.” He stops again, takes a breath. “In case we’re not and something happens, I want you to have a part of me and for me to have a part of you, I guess.”

Louis presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. His other gifts are on the desk; a mess of mix-CD’s, weed, clothes, and homemade cards. The weight on his wrist feels comfortable. It tilts his world just as Harry tilts his head and begs more for Louis than just a kiss.

*

He traces Harry’s skin that night. The moonlight washes them in sharp lines and Harry bites the skin of Louis’ shoulder to keep quiet whenever Louis’ brushes over a spot that makes him gasp.

“Let me,” Harry pants, his lips swollen and eyes bright. He pushes Louis onto his back and shifts down until his lips ghost over the swollen head of Louis’ dick. “Want to make you feel good.”

Harry is new to this, Louis can tell. Harry mumbles an apology when his leg presses too hard onto Louis’ hipbone. Louis bites on a surprised gasp when he feels how boney Harry’s knees are.

The one thing about Harry that catches Louis by surprise is that he’s gentle. His lips cushion the head of Louis’ dick and he takes his time. Louis rests his hand on Harry’s head, sometimes tightening his hold when Harry’s thumb brushes with more pressure on the vein on Louis’ dick. 

“Harry,” Louis mumbles, closing his eyes and covering his mouth with his own hand to not make so much noise when Harry slides his mouth. He doesn’t reach all the way but his hand is warm and big when it wraps the rest of the way. He rests there for a few seconds, getting used to the feel and Louis digs his heels into the sheets.

Louis focuses on how tight and hot Harry’s mouth. He always knew that, knew that Harry was sunshine and heat and light in a thin and gangly body, but it’s different now. It feels suffocating and curls from the tip of Louis’ head to the very tip of his toes. Everything is consumed.

He doesn’t last long, and Harry ends up spitting. He fumbles around for one of their shirts and cleans Louis off, being gentle with the skin.

“Come here,” Louis mumbles, motioning with a lazy hand. He taps his chest, motioning for Harry to sit there.

Harry’s legs are thin but the muscles underneath his thighs are strong and well formed. Louis can tell when he wraps his hands around Harry’s legs and tongues at the head of his cock.

His chest burns hot when Harry’s fingertips dig their bruises and needs into the meat of Louis’ shoulder. He mumbles his name like a prayer and wonders if Harry has ever prayed or asked for forgiveness with this much need and want. 

Harry comes and Louis _does_ swallow, taking down the bitter taste because it’s Harry and he doesn’t want to let him down. 

Their bodies are lazy and it’s too warm to sleep underneath the blanket. Their limbs tangling and Harry kisses a drop of cum on Louis’ chin. Louis closes his eyes and fends away the need that curls into his body, settles heavy in his bones.

Christmas is the same thing except with more singing and Niall wrestles Zayn into a Christmas sweater and places antlers on his head with a smile and a kiss.

Louis tugs Harry away after they’ve unwrapped all of their gifts. He can hear Danielle giggle and Niall yelling Zayn’s name when he closes the door with a soft click.

“Sneaking away from the festivities are we?” Harry asks with a curl to his lips. His eyes are hooded, sleepy, and he’s still wearing the shirt he slipped on during the night. 

“I wanted to give you my gift,” Louis explains.

Harry pouted when he didn’t see Louis’ gift, his shoulders slumping a bit and his eyes sad. Now, though, there’s a definite light to them and a very small smile.

“Sit down.”

Harry sits on the bed, hands folded in his lap. 

The gift is wrapped with multiple layers of paper folded in different directions and tape wrapped around the paper, trying to hold it together.

“I think you needed Liam more than I did,” Harry mumbles. Not taking a chance to grab for the gift.

Louis says, “Here, you can take it.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate this time, his fingers cradling the wrapped presents in his palm. 

“You can open it.”

The tape doesn’t come off easily, but when Louis tries to help, Harry moves away slightly, like he’s been stung. Louis gets it, though. Understands that this is Harry’s gift and his alone.

Harry plays with the chain, lets it slide through his fingers before looking up.

“A chain?”

“Yeah, it’s.” Louis rubs his hands on his jeans. Scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t know we were both going to go the whole jewelry route, and I didn’t know anything else that you would’ve wanted-“

“Louis, it’s great, really.”

“No,” Louis looks at Harry, feels something in his body twist so hard in his chest. “You got to speak last time, didn’t you?”

Harry nods, holding the tiny metal paper plane in his hands.

Louis shifts closer. Harry smells of toothpaste and the detergent that Liam buys for cheap at the super market. He looks tired. Their thighs press together and Louis can feel Harry’s heartbeat.

“See, I wanted to make your Christmas gift special because it’s you. You don’t really have much except for what I could pack into a tiny suitcase and run out with, but.” Louis stops, links their hands together. Harry squeezes just slightly, like a pulse. “I found this without looking for it, you know? It was just sort of that one of those things that hit you in the face and when you see it, you think, that’s it. That’s the gift. I know it’s not much, but I’m not a man of money. I’m not a man who can rope you the moon and give it to you, even if I wish I were, and I do. For you, I want to give you everything you ever needed or will need, Harry.”

Harry isn’t looking at Louis; except his hand is pressing so tight, Louis fears his bones might snap in half. His fingertips are wax white and his breathing is loud. There is laughter outside the room. Outside their own secret world.

“The plane is supposed to represent running away. Wanting something and having to leave everything behind and just going for it. Leave everything behind and do what they’ve always wanted to do. I thought about it and this fitted you so well. Fitted you because you ran away for love, for me, Harry. And this, this chain is holding you down, just in case you want to run away again, just in case you feel the need to run, just know that I’m always going to be there to keep you grounded, keep you here. I love you so much and I want to show you the world you’ve always wanted. I want to be the person who can do that, Harry, so let me.”

Harry clutches the necklaces, his hands shaking slightly. Before Louis has time to ask if he’ll put it on, Harry is there. Hands tracing their phantom paths along Louis’ chest and pressing hot fingertips to the dips of his collarbones and the striking blue veins of his neck. His breath is hot and the afternoon glow makes it more intimate, more revealing to the world that they’re trying to hide from. 

There are feather light kisses to Louis’ jaw, the confession of Harry’s love tucked into his jawbone and pressed down his throat and into his heavy beating heart. Louis holds onto him, holds onto Harry’s shaking body by his pointed elbows and his clean, pale skin. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Harry mumbles, the words wet and the tears damp on the slope of Louis’ shoulder.

“I know.” Louis presses the words into the soft tangled curls of Harry’s hair that smell of Louis and hope it makes it to his heart.

The world continues to spin as Harry shakes like there is an earthquake rocking his body. Louis wipes away each tear stuck to Harry’s eyelashes and kisses him, quiets down him down with his tongues and his hands.

The metal is warm, almost hot, when Harry gives it to Louis, silently asking for it to be placed around his neck. Louis does it carefully, linking together a promise he knows he can’t break and a trust that will solidify forever for them.

*

New Years comes along.

Harry is high and Louis is drunk, their fingers fumbling for one another. The necklace gleams on Harry’s sharp collarbones and his pale skin, bringing out the natural color of his green eyes. They’re wide and there’s a drop of champagne clung to his lips.

Louis kisses the drop off, licks the seam of Harry’s lips in a shy greeting and Harry lets him in. Harry is always hot. Always hot in his touches, his gasps, his fingertips, and in his mouth. 

They fumble to the room, giggling and Harry smells so strong and Louis wants to break him and bend him and make him chant his name until he’s begging. 

Harry drops to his knees when Louis sits on the bed. There’s a devious smile covering Harry’s face, his eyes sparkling like a mystery.

“We’re going to miss the count down if you do that.”

Harry breaths hot and heavy on the denim of Louis’ jeans, and looks up at him. It’s a sin, Louis thinks, to be that beautiful.

“What a better way to bring in the New Year than by making you cum?” Harry asks, completely innocent. 

And they do just that. Louis curling his fingers into the forest of Harry’s heavy curls as Harry pulls and hums. There are fireworks outside and people running down the street, laughing in a drunken fit.

All Louis thinks of is Harry, and yeah, it is a nice way to bring in the New Year, after all.

*

Louis and Harry are curled up together tittering on the edge of sleep. Harry’s breathing is near even and deep, pressing little breaths into Louis’ collarbone.

“Your birthday is coming up,” Louis breathes out. The air is cold in the January air. 

“Yes,” Harry agrees, throwing his arm over Louis’ side loosely, tugging their hips closer together. “It is, isn’t it?”

Louis keeps his eyes closed, but he can imagine Harry’s face. Open and calm, eyes to the point of closing and jaw lax. 

“You’ll finally be able to drink legally,” Louis jokes, pinching Harry’s side. 

The sheets rustle and Louis feels Harry’s heat as he slaps him away.

“Will you buy my very first legal drink, Louis?”

Louis shrugs and opens his eyes just a bit. Harry’s are wide open, looking at him. Louis tightens his hold on Harry’s hip, making sure to press his fingertips into the bone.

“If I have enough money I’d love to.”

“That can be your birthday present to me.” Harry is closer now, lips closely edging on touching, noses ghosting against one another. “I know money is tight around here.”

“Just a drink?” Louis asks.

“Just a drink.”

*

Liam is awake when Louis gets up in the early morning of February 1st. The sky is heavy with clouds and the possibility of rain.

“We need a cake.”

“That we do,” Liam agrees. 

There aren’t many people outside when Louis goes to the Bakery that Harry works in. The lights are warm orange and the wooded paneling of the walls give Louis a sense of home that only his flat – and Harry – make him feel.

Harry’s manager is a willowy woman with streaks of gray in her brown hair. She has kind eyes and an even kinder accent. 

“I made him the cake,” she says, handing over the box. She refuses to take Louis and Liam’s money with a quick shake of her head. 

It’s raining just slightly when Liam opens the door and holds it open for Louis as he carries the box. 

“I can see why Harry gets away with so much in the bakery,” Louis says as he plays with the tiny strings tied around the white box. “He’s gotten her completely smitten.”

“Not the only one he seems to have that sort of effect on.” Liam grabs the box from Louis when Louis nearly trips over from their hasty walking.

“Oh, shut up,” Louis laughs. “Don’t get all soapy on me right now, I’m not going to have it.”

Liam shrugs and waits for the signal to let them walk through the streets. 

“Do you think he’s going to like the gift?”

Louis shrugs, biting the edge of his thumb. It’s a bad habit he’s picked up after helping Harry study for his exams and concentrating on him for too long.

“He’s said some things about it before, you know?” Louis stands closer to Liam in the group of people, trying to make his voice low but still heard. Liam leans in a bit.

“Yeah, but what if he doesn’t like it?” Liam asks. His eyes are wide and Louis feels a sort of gripping around his stomach when he realizes how much Liam actually cares. 

“He’ll like it,” Louis assures him, but even he doesn’t know. Harry is always tricky, always saying thank you and accepting whatever is placed in front of him because he still doesn’t know how to ask for things on his own.

“We’re corrupting him.” Liam shuffles the box in his arms a bit, his fingers tight around the edge to make sure it doesn’t fall. 

“How are we corrupting him? You’re honestly like our mother, Liam.”

“After you two had the food fight and then refused to clean it up and take a shower together, I’d like to hold that responsibility because if no one does, we would all die.” 

The rain is beating down harder now, thick clouds of damp gray striping across the sky. Louis feels the water slosh into his TOMs again.

“I’m going to have to buy a new pair,” Louis mumbles as he holds the door open for Liam to shuffle inside. The hallway of the apartment is cold and the lights are bright white, bathing their features pale and sickly.

Liam rolls his eyes. “I told you to get actual shoes when we went out last time.”

“Right, but Harry wanted me to help him try something on and-“

“And nothing.” Liam motions his head for Louis to press the button to signal the elevator. Louis does quickly, tapping his waterlogged shoe on the ground. “You two were probably making out the whole time or whatever it is you two do.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve never been kissed before, let alone had sex,” Louis points out, letting Liam shuffle inside first. Their shoulders bump together and Louis takes the cake box out of Liam’s hands when they reach their floor.

Liam is opening the door when he asks, “Do you think he’ll still be asleep?”

“Probably,” Louis answers back, but he doesn’t really know. Harry looked tired the night before, eyes heavy and breathing evening out in quick minutes. 

The flat is quiet and Louis’ door is closed when Louis checks to see if the bathroom has been used or anything. It seems like they’re walking into a movie still, with just how quiet everything is. 

Liam places the cake box in the fridge while Louis sneaks inside his room, making sure to close the door quietly.

The sheets are kicked off of Harry’s body, tousled around his legs. His body is turned away from the door and his breathing is even and quiet. 

Louis stops by the desk and closes Harry’s laptop, and is surprised to see the pile of pictures that he took from Harry’s room tucked next to it. Some of the corners are worn out, bent back and forth until the creases are white. Louis places the stack back on the table, straightens them out and turns to look at Harry.

Who is still sleeping, despite the noise and Louis hears footsteps in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, leaning over Harry’s body. Harry’s eyes close in annoyance at the intrusion of Louis’ voice. “Hey.”

“What?” Harry grumbles, voice groggy and eyes unfocused as they open a tiny bit. His legs kick the sheets away and he shuffles his head deeper into the pillows.

“Oh no, you’re not getting to sleep,” Louis jokes, laying his body onto of Harry’s. Harry puffs out a breath and his hand weakly pushes at Louis’ shoulder, trying to nudge him off.

“Get off, you’re heavy when I’m half-asleep.”

“Now, now, you should be saying half-awake and go with a positive attitude, shouldn’t you?” Louis asks, leaning half of his body down so he’s looking at Harry’s face. 

“Louis, really,” Harry mumbles, shuffling into the sheets.

“Does the birthday boy want something else to wake up to?” Louis asks, voice hushed. Harry’s open wider at that, his cheeks pinking just slightly. 

Louis noses at Harry’s cheek, lips edging on the tip of Harry’s lips, pressing on the smooth skin there.

“What’s my wake up present, Tomlinson?” Harry challenges. His voice is loud and muffled near Louis’ ear, deeper than it’s ever been.

Louis smirks into Harry’s cheek and he lifts himself up, slinking down Harry’s ever growing frame until he reaches his hips.

“Are you going to turn so you’re on your back or am I going to have to do it for you?”

“Do it for me?” Harry asks, pouting just a bit. “It’s my birthday.”

“Fine.” Louis pushes at Harry’s hip until he rolls easily, his legs spreading open. Harry’s shirt is riding up and his boxers are dangerously low on his defined hips. There’s a love bite on the edge of his hip and one peeking shyly underneath Harry’s rumpled shirt. 

Hooking two fingers into the waistband of Harry’s boxer briefs, he tugs down and is greeted with a half hard erection.

“Quite responsive in the mornings,” Louis huffs, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock and pulling lazily. Harry’s chest is pumping up and down slowly, eyes slipping close as his cock is full and hot against his own flat stomach.

Louis likes blowing Harry, taking him in his mouth as much as he can – which isn’t much because they’re both learning – because Harry is eager and quiet when he needs to be. He’s quiet and only lets tiny gasps leave his mouth, pumping out of his mouth like his ribs are tired of holding them captive. 

Harry’s hips push off the bed, making Louis pull back quick and cough into his elbow. He looks at Harry with stern eyes, and presses his hands, palms flat, onto Harry’s hips and presses tight on the love bite there. Harry moans at the hot sensation that prickles throughout his skin, and he stays on the bed, not wanting to defy Louis again. 

It’s lazy this time, Louis milking out Harry’s with one of his hands as he hears Harry get a bit louder, trying to take the chance that he doesn’t want to take. 

“Louis,” Harry gasps to the ceiling. There’s a hollow slap on skin and Louis imagines Harry’s hands playing with his chest, trying to edge him off even more. Louis pulls off when Harry is close to cum, milking him and watching the cum stain Harry’s stomach and cling to the raised edge of his shirt, coating the love bite Louis sucked in white. 

“You twat,” Harry huffs, disgusted at the sight of his own cum on his chest. Louis smiles and tugs on the hem of Harry’s shirt, motioning for him to take it off.

“What about you?” Harry asks, voice quiet and breath stuttered as Louis wipes him down. 

“What about me?”

Harry sits up then, his knees pressing into the bed. He leans onto Louis’ shoulder, breath hot on Louis’ shirt.

“Your skin is freezing,” Harry mumbles as he runs one hand down the length of Louis’ arm and fumbling for his pants button with his thumb.

“Went out with Liam for a bit,” Louis explains. Harry nods, pulling on Louis’ zipper and tugging down, the sound deafening in the room.

Harry mouths at Louis’ shirt, dampening the cloth with his tongue and hot breath as he pumps Louis. Louis closes his eyes, lets his own mind get consumed easily into the sensation of touch and Harry. It’s close to overwhelming, just with the fact that Harry took the plunge and touched first without asking or looking at Louis and seeing if it was okay. 

“Harry,” Louis pants into the air and Harry is teasing at the constricted tendon of Louis’ neck, his own breaths tiny at the stretch.

Louis cums, eyes closed tight and his chest pumping breath. Harry kisses him, fingers edging to the short ends of Louis’ hair, scratching teasingly.

“I have to clean up again,” Louis mumbles, turning onto his side and fetching the shirt that fell off.

“No, no.” Harry grabs the shirt and wipes Louis clean with a soft smile. “I wanted to.”

“You did?” Louis asks, eyebrows perched up in question. “Why?”

“Don’t get to touch you enough,” Harry mumbles, his cheeks pinking. He tosses the shirt back on the floor.

Louis’ chest stutters at the quiet confession. He wraps his hand around Harry’s elbow, still perching his weight on top of Louis. He presses his fingers into the bone and closes his eyes.

“You always ask or look at me.”

“I can’t help that.”

“I don’t want you to ask or look at me and seek permission. I’m not the forbidden fruit, am I?” Louis’ eyes narrow just slightly as Harry’s own widen and his cheeks pink more than before. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Harry leans down then, their chests lying on top of one another. Their heart beats out of synch as Harry reaches over for Louis’ hand, holding him down by his wrists. 

“Will you let me touch you for my birthday?” Harry asks, voice deep and eyes fluttering closed.

“Later,” Louis promises and then they break apart, as if nothing happened.

*

Afterwards, Harry brushes his teeth and Louis washes his face and hands.

Louis takes Harry out for the day, keeping close to him. Harry is growing taller – already taller than Louis and Zayn – but it still overwhelms Louis how young Harry is. It comes and punches him in the gut when Harry laughs at something as they walk from shop to shop. 

Harry is loss innocence, Louis reminds himself. He’s something that has been trapped and kept away from being who he truly is. He is rebellious in the calmest of terms. 

The lights of the store catches Harry eyes, sparkling green as he covers his lips with his hand to calm himself down. People walk around them, most of them walking hurriedly away to clothes or outside in the rain into their own lives.

“Sorry that it’s raining on your birthday,” Louis says while shuffling through clothes.

Harry shrugs, their shoulders rubbing together slightly, and smiles at Louis and says, “Not your fault. You can’t control the weather.”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun for a birthday.”

“I’m only turning eighteen,” Harry shrugs off, letting the sentence roll of the tongue. “Going to have a lot more birthdays after this one.”

Louis drops the shirt he’s toying with on the table and stretches the collar out a bit by his fingertips, getting something to distract himself.

“Yeah, but,” he starts. He looks at Harry. “It’s a big deal, being able to drink and everything and whatnot.”

“Used to drink before this birthday,” Harry mumbles back. His skin looks paler, his eyes heavier.

“Hey,” Louis shifts closer, until their bodies are pressed close together, and maybe too close together, as some questionable looks from others shoot them. “You’re allowed to be excited for this birthday. Did you not have birthday parties before or something?”

“Of course I had birthday parties,” Harry huffs, rolling his eyes and stepping outside of Louis’ space. “It’s just different now. I’m with you this year and all of the other lads and Danielle and it’s just…different.” 

Louis realizes they shouldn’t be having this conversation out in public, but Harry would be shaking now in the privacy of their room. He would be pressing crescent shaped nail marks into his skin to stop himself.

“You’re a big boy, Harry,” Louis reaches out and grabs onto Harry’s arm even when Harry tenses. He knows Harry would ask for this touch, or give him a look, and plead, but Louis isn’t in the mood for playing those games. 

“I know what I am,” Harry hisses. His arm doesn’t relax. Louis can feel his thunderous heart beat pound into his fingertips. “I just miss my family, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear or something?”

“Actually.” Louis stands a few paces behind Harry as they walk out of the store and into the rain. “That’s the most I got out of you, Harry, so yeah, I am actually happy.”

Harry doesn’t respond, but he looks tired. He looks tired and Louis reaches out for his hand and doesn’t care about the parents who will cast them looks and the teenagers who will laugh at them, and takes it. Harry’s hand is warm, as always, and Louis wonders whom it reassures more.

Harry or him.

*

The rest of the day, Harry is fine. Louis can tell he’s put up his walls and he tenses up for a few seconds every time Louis touches his kneecap or his shoulder blade, letting the fingers curl into his skin.

They go out for dinner and Louis pays for Harry’s drink, which earns him a small smile.

“You kept your promise,” Harry says, as if it’s just the two of them.

Louis leans into his seat, his own feet edge along Harry’s own beat up shoes. 

“A promise is a promise.” 

Niall raises his glass and elbows Zayn to do the same. 

“Happy birthday, Haz,” Niall says, accent thick and a smile plastered on his face. Zayn nods and blinks. They drink quickly, letting the alcohol swim in their system and begin the process of blurring their judgment. 

“Haz?” Harry asks, a tiny quirk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a nice nickname, isn’t it?” Niall asks, stuffing his face of food. He smiles, proud of himself.

“Sure,” Harry laughs, eyes tired and smile fond. “I guess it is nice.”

*

The presents, Louis knows, are what Harry is most excited for.

Despite being pushed to grow older in the matter of months, Harry has a childish air around him. He laughs and kisses Louis on the cheek after dinner is done, his lips bright red and eyes glowing.

Danielle stops by, a small present tucked underneath her arm, and a smile and a kiss waiting when Harry spots her.

“You know,” Harry announces. His speech is a bit slurred from the cider that Niall kept feeding him. “Danielle is my favorite. She smells nice and she’s always clean and she’s just nice.” Harry beams at her, all teeth and shining green eyes.

“Alright,” Louis says, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Pull it back, Styles, she’s taken.” 

Harry turns towards Louis and pouts, lips shining with the spit from licking his lips over and over again. 

“Not fair,” Harry says, quieting his voice. The room is quiet. “You treat me more like a charity case than a boyfriend. We haven’t even fucked yet or anything, Louis.”

Niall laughs into his hand and Zayn is looking away, his own lips turned up. Liam isn’t laughing, looking at Louis with something indescribable on his face.

“Come on,” Louis says, getting up. The chair makes more noise than it should and Harry swallows.

“Hey, what about presents?” Niall asks, his cheeks red and eyes wide in curiosity. 

“We’ll open them up tomorrow,” Louis responds. He wraps his hand around Harry’s wrist and pulls.

The door close with a soft click as Louis lets Harry’s wrist slips from his grip.

“Is this what you want?” Louis asks, stepping close to Harry who is sitting on the bed. He pushes Harry lightly on his chest. Harry falls onto the bed easily, hair fanning out and legs hanging off the side. His shirt rides up, revealing the tender love bites sucked into his stomach from earlier in that day.

“No, I just-” Harry takes a breath. Presses his hands against Louis’ chest. “I want to touch you.” 

Their breathing is heavy, loud, in the empty spaces of the room. It builds and builds and Louis doesn’t respond. Doesn’t accept, because he knows Harry will continue to ask, be scared.

Harry pushes Louis down on the bed, switching positions. It’s awkward and their limbs are heavy and their breaths both smell of cider. 

Louis lies completely still for Harry, arms laid down with his palms pressed down against the sheets and his feet pointed towards the ceiling. Harry sits on the heavy jut of his hipbones, his body heat sinking and warming.

The TV is on outside the room and there’s laughing and running about, but Louis blocks it out. He sees Harry’s hands trail up his stomach, unsure of what to do or where to go. This is a whole new map, a new world, a new Louis from this light.

Harry’s fingers are gentle and the fingertips soft and unused and not used to the abuse of the world outside the one he was caged in. Louis closes his eyes when Harry’s fingers tickle their way to his collarbones. Louis resists the urge to trail his own hand up Harry’s arm and press into the crease of his elbow, a habit worked so carefully into their lives. 

“Louis,” Harry breaths and he sounds so close, so much closer than Louis wants or needs. The drinks are ebbing away slowly, and Harry is taking his time. Takes his time as his fingertips trail from Louis’ collarbones to his the own creases of his elbows – which he presses into to feel the jolt of pulse – and to his hands. Harry’s own fingers don’t curl into the open slots of Louis’ own hands, but instead tap along each knuckle. 

“Open your eyes.” Harry sounds so close – too close, going to take and destroy – and his voice is edging and shaky and pleading. “Please, Louis.”

Louis opens his eyes and Harry reaches down and kisses him. There’s a pressure on Louis’ arms that isn’t welcomed but shied away from either, it’s a pressure that sits in his chest like he’s suffocating. Their kiss is urgent and Louis wants to reach, wants to grab onto Harry’s hair and keep him there and press and have, because he’s held off for so long.

Harry loosens his grip eventually from Louis’ elbows and leans away from the kiss. His head burrows into the crook of Louis’ shoulder and throat. Harry’s teeth are gentle as they graze along Louis’ throat, edging along the pulse, but not quite reaching it. 

Louis lifts his hands off of the bed, and runs his fingertips underneath the hem of Harry’s shirt. There’s a gasp pressed into Louis’ skin, swimming through his bone and pounding into his stomach and Louis presses his hands underneath Harry’s shirt. He traces Harry’s backbone as Harry leans up, hands molding to the arches of Louis’ solid chest. 

They spend the night like this, in their own world. Louis undresses Harry slowly, kissing each lovebite he can reach and pressing away the fear that edges close into his eyes, threatening to bloom into fear. Harry is willowy and grown too fast. He’s eighteen and bound to burn out soon, bound to break and crack and grow and find that the world is warm as it is cold. 

Louis holds onto him as Harry maps his way around with his soft and innocent fingertips. Their eyes roam over skin and their breaths ebb away from alcohol ridden to the tastes of each other’s skin. Harry traces Louis’ kneecaps as Louis presses his fingertips – his love – into Harry’s shoulder blades and hopes it finds its way to his heart.

Together, they fall. Ever burning.

*

The next day, no one asks about it. It’s usually for the best, not treading onto ground that is meant to be private. Louis’ elbows are sporting rings of faint bruises in a crooked fingerprinted circle. Harry looks pleased.

“Presents.”

Harry looks away from the TV. Liam slaps his knee gentle as a warning for Harry wriggling his feet around Liam’s thigh, pressing his cold toes into the cloth.

There isn’t much. Shirts and mix tapes and body paint that Niall and Zayn got as a joke present, but Louis watches the way Harry’s cheeks pink and his eyes darken slightly from the sight of it.

Huh.

Louis is flipping the card around in his hand, twirling it like it means nothing. Harry’s eyes circle it, tempted to reach out and take it.

“It’s from all of us,” Louis explains and stops messing around. He hands it to Harry who takes it gingerly. Louis pretends not to see the love bite on Harry’s neck stutter from breath.

“A tattoo card?” Harry asks, eyebrows creased in confusion, his lips dipped slightly down.

“You’re eighteen now,” Liam says, like it’s obvious. “Thought you might want a bit of rebellion.”

Harry flips the card over in his hands, like he’s trying to determine whether it’s actually real or not. His eyes are guarded, his shoulders folded in like he’s trying to protect himself.

“You, uh, don’t have to,” Louis supplies. He ignores Liam’s eyes as they drop to the floor.

“No,” Harry says, after a few beats of silence. “No, I know what I want. This is perfect, really.” 

“Zayn said he’ll take you.” Liam is smiling now, eyes crinkling. 

“Would he?” Harry asks, looking at Louis. “Why won’t you?”

“Bit terrified of needles,” Louis admits. 

Harry shakes it off and then gets up, so sudden and unlike him, and hugs Liam.

Liam hugs him back, arms warm and protecting, around the slight curves that Harry has grown into. 

Louis joins in a minute later, and it feels warm and welcomed, and like family.

*

Harry gets the tattoo a week later after school while Louis is still at work.

The record shop is beginning to swell up with people milling about, sifting through records upon records. It smells like the winter air inside, and Louis tugs on his cap to cover his ears every time the door opens.

There’s a text message from Zayn saying: ur boy is all grown up! x when Louis gets out of work a few hours later. The text message is old and has been sitting there, waiting to be looked at.

Louis’ first reaction is to close his eyes and take a breath. Sometimes, during the quiet times between the chaos, Louis remembers how rushed this came to be. How they all scrambled to become a family, to help Harry out of his caged and rebellious life, how they picked up the pieces months ago.

Just _months_ , and sometimes Louis feels like he’s been living centuries. It rushes at him, hits him in the stomach until he’s out of breath and all he can do is close his eyes and breathes. 

After a few minutes, Louis texts back a: _should i be worried? don’t want to know what niall and you did to him…_ and stuffs his phone into his pocket and locks the store up. Flipping the sign from open to close.

The roads are thinned out of people, only a few walking around. Most of them are couples, their breath fogging together as they talk quietly, their arms linked and hands covered in gloves. Louis flexes his fingers and realizes he never usually uses gloves because Harry is always there, rubbing his hands together and sparking warmth through their skin, both dry and cracked. 

He craves it more than ever now, Harry’s warmth. It crowds his head and floods his ribcage, and Louis stops in the middle of the sidewalk and curls his fingers dangerously tight around one another, just trying to collect his thoughts. He’s never been dependent on someone, never thought about them as much as he thinks – and worries – about Harry.

The air is biting cold and Louis pulls his beanie down more, and rushes home, his breath puffing in thick white clouds, disappearing into the air as if they never were there at all.

*

Louis is chilled to his bones – his nerves, his organs – when he finally opens the door. All he really wants to do is sleep, his mind on overdrive.

Of course, when Louis hangs his coat up, he’s greeted with all of the guys sitting around the TV, watching and talking aimlessly.

“So,” Louis starts, his voice projecting louder over the volume. The guys turn suddenly. Harry looks up the quickest, eyes wide. “Heard you’re not exactly a little boy anymore?”

Niall laughs, his eyes widening and focusing in on Harry. Harry shifts and rubs his hands together, uncomfortable. The light catches on the gauze wrapped around his arm. Louis thinks he looks a warrior with a wound, only more beautiful and a lot more fragile. Harry would never survive in a war.

“Come sit down,” Harry says, instead of answering. There is pink on his cheeks. He scratches at the gauze, like a nervous tic.

“Harry could’ve taken it off hours ago,” Zayn explains when Louis grips Harry’s hand and holds it down. Harry settles down, swallows.

“Why didn’t you?”

“He wanted to wait,” Niall says, a smile curling around his lips. “For you, that is.”

Harry doesn’t respond or even look up, but his hand jumps in Louis’ grasp, trying to free and probably pick at the gauze. 

“Go on,” Liam urges, sitting straighter in the chair. “Louis can help you if you really need it, won’t you?”

Louis nods and Harry’s hand stops trying to free itself from the tight grasp Louis has. Leaning forward, Louis takes in the smell of smoke and soap and ink on Harry. He picks at the gauze, letting the bandage peel away easily. 

The ink is set as Louis can see, but bumpy and he doesn’t risk running his finger over it, just in case. His finger ghosts over the rigid, blunt lines of the star. Louis presses his finger into the middle of the star, into the patch of pure skin in the middle of a permanent mark. Harry sucks in a breath.

“A star?” Louis asks, in a hushed breath. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry insists, his voice lowered and huskier. “Alone.”

Louis leans back into the couch and wipes his palms on his jeans. Alone, then. Alone can work.

*

The next time that Harry and Louis are truly alone is when Liam decides to spend the night with Danielle in the beginning weeks of March.

The air is becoming warmer and the sun shining more in the sky, growing from milky yellow to bright. Everything is blooming, including Harry.

Harry’s eyes are greener and his hair recently cut by Danielle. There are still some random strands of hair underneath the sink that they’re too lazy to sweep up.

“Liam is staying the night with Danielle,” Louis hints. He’s helping Harry study for an exam tomorrow, fingers curled around the paper and his eyes taking in the swirls of Harry’s handwriting. “Your handwriting is very girly.”

“Is he really?” Harry asks, his head bent toward the table. He’s biting the skin around his finger – always the middle one – trying to think of the answer. “I know it’s girly, but it’s better than yours and Niall’s.”

“Yes, really.” Louis doesn’t remember the question that he asked Harry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were having a competition on our handwriting.”

“If we did,” Harry responds, giving up and snatching the paper out of Louis’ hand. He raises his finger to stop Louis from complaining about cheating. “If we did have a competition on that, Danielle would win obviously.”

“Right, but.” Louis leans over and tries to snatch the paper back, but Harry just leans further away. His torso is getting longer by the day, adding more cons to the list of Louis’ height. “We aren’t adding girls to this, are we? Just the lads.”

“She’s more of a lad than you are,” Harry says, with a breath of a laugh. He sobers up and then says, “It’s been two weeks. I can freely show off the tattoo now.”

The tattoo had been an issue shoved up the rug and left there to settle and – hopefully – disappear. Louis is fine with the tattoo, but never asks why he got the star or the trip there because the thought of needles makes Louis’ knees feel loose and his stomach roll. There had been theories Louis made up as to why – whenever work was slow and he couldn’t bear to stare at the clock – but mostly it came up with too little meanings, because yes, Harry did speak of the tattoo once or twice, but never offered up why it would be a star.

Now, though, in the quiet, Harry would be willing to tell him.

“You need to shower, don’t you?” Louis asks, trying to get his point across. His heart is racing. 

Harry smiles down at the table and nods, shy.

The bathroom lights hum above them, washing their bodies in bright light. Harry looks thinner and paler from this angle, but he has to look down a bit to smile at Louis, and it’s unnerving, having Harry grow so much in such a little time.

Louis takes his time taking off Harry’s shirt, the tips of his fingers catching on the necklaces around his neck. The airplane is still gleaming silver, catching on the light.

“Let me see.”

Harry raises his arm obediently as their bodies move closer together. Harry’s warmth is contagious, as Louis is always on the brink of cold. He presses his fingertips into the groove of Harry’s hipbones, hearing the hiss of breath as Harry’s warmth leeches to the cool skin.

Louis’ hands move from the dipped hipbones and ghosts and skirts along Harry’s skin, pale and still translucent from the first time Louis ever met him. He pauses on the tattoo, not sure to press. His fingertip leaves a small bruise in the middle, plume and dark blue, like a smudge of paint was left there.

“Go on.” 

His eyes are resting on Harry’s arm, switching back and forth to his suspended fingertips and he watches – as if he’s not there – to the press his fingers leave on Harry’s skin. The ink feels like his skin, as if it’s more of a malfunction of skin cells and a deformation set into shape, placed there by mother nature rather than man made. 

Louis spends his time tracing the ink, pausing at each corner. He wonders what this means. He wants to ask, but knows that Harry will eventually come to speak. There are still so many doors and windows closed; Louis is barely getting the curtains open.

Harry bends down and on instinct, Louis presses tighter around Harry’s bicep. His fingers curl and press and when they kiss, Harry exhales into his mouth like he first did. They kiss slowly, mapping each other out and Harry’s hands cradle Louis’ head as Louis’ hand presses into the ink and snowy tinted flesh of Harry’s arm.

Later, after minutes of swapping mouths and unsaid words, Harry undresses and showers. 

“Stay here,” He commands softly. Louis’ chest stutters, because it’s not a question, but a demand. Quiet, yes, but a demand nonetheless and he can’t help but sit on the toilet lid and watch Harry.

Harry’s back is slightly curved, and the muscles in his sides move like liquid when he adjusts the showerhead. The water collects in his hair and slides down his back like melting snow on a mountain. He stands with his back to Louis, and his legs look stronger. There are muscles waiting to be defined underneath, silently begging to be brought to tautness and all Louis wants to do is touch Harry. Have him and make him beg. 

The water slides down the curve of Harry’s frame like it’s digging him out. Shoveling past invisible layers of sadness and rejection and so much more that Louis wants to know, but teaches himself to wait for.

Afterwards, Harry lets Louis wrap him in a towel, tucking it around his waist after wiping his chest and arms down. His hair drips on the floor, but Louis doesn’t mind. Harry is warm and his fingertips pruning slightly, his lips redder in this light.

Later, Harry strips Louis of his clothes, layer by layer. It feels like Harry is trying to get inside Louis, stripping him down until he’s just bones and a beating heart. They fumble around, skin against skin. Louis kisses Harry’s tattoo, and bites the skin, hearing Harry gasp as his fingers slide off of Louis’ spine and onto the bed. He wants to take the plunge, push Harry down onto the bed and spread his legs and take, but he knows not yet.

Harry whispers Louis’ name like a prayer, and clutches onto the airplane necklace. Afterwards, Louis traces the harsh imprints in Harry’s palm from doing such thing.

The questions pile on.

*

The months move faster than Louis has a grasp on.

Suddenly, life shifts and Louis grows up. He quits his two jobs and gets a job at Liam’s office job when there’s an offhand comment about someone quitting. It’s not exactly paradise, or the thing that Louis has always dreamt of doing, but it gets more money in his pocket and it’s quiet and set into it’s rules and sometimes Louis does like calm and set and not needing to think so much.

The only downside is that it means less time with Harry, but that also means a good thing, too. They’re growing more desperate in their touches, in the way their gasps come out sharper and how their hands make new pathways and journey to places that they haven’t touched yet, just in case.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t want to have sex with Harry; it’s just that he knows Harry isn’t ready. They’ve never talked about it – like everything else – and it’s been tucked away along with many other things on the list. 

There’s also the haunting date of Harry’s graduation that looms in the back of Louis’ head. It usually gets filtered out and stashed away whenever Louis sits down and has to type letters up or shred things. It eases his headaches a little bit, and it’s a bit annoying, how old he’s suddenly gotten in the span of months. 

“What are we going to do for Harry’s graduation?” Liam asks as they walk home. The sun is beginning to set and Louis rolls the sleeves of his work shirt up as they stop at a corner.

“Not sure,” Louis says, and he’s not. “Maybe we should just take a vacation and get him out of the city.”

“You think he’d like that? Has he ever been to the seaside?” 

Louis holds the door open for Liam and they decide to take the stairs. 

“He said he used to go the sea in the summer with his family. He said he was supposed to go with his sister this summer.”

“Maybe you should take him to the sea,” Liam suggests. It’s the hint of intimacy and privacy that Louis has been craving lately.

They stop the conversation when they get inside, making sure to toe off their shoes. Louis opens the window in the living room, letting the breeze inside. 

Harry is asleep, curled into a tiny ball, on the bed. His textbooks on the floor and his notebook placed near his kneecap. He looks infinitely younger like this, and sometimes Louis needs to remind himself that Harry is still young. Only a month into being eighteen, and it’s distressing every single time. 

He lets Harry sleep, knowing he’s spent hours and hours revising and working, and helps Liam cook dinner. It’s simple enough that all Louis helps with is stirring the pasta and making sure to add more amounts of wine to the sauce than necessary, but Liam just laughs and lets it roll off his shoulders. 

Harry stumbles in during the middle of making dinner and sticks to Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist and brushing his lips against Louis’ shirt clad shoulder.

“You smell like paper,” Harry mumbles. He leans all of his weight onto Louis. Louis grips onto the counter just to make sure not to fall, even though Harry is paperweight.

Louis presses his fingertips to the last knob of Harry’s spine and says, "And you smell like your school, which isn’t exactly a one up from what I smell like.”

“True, but I was too tired to come home and shower.”

Harry leans off Louis and goes to sit at the kitchen table. 

“How’s revision?” Liam asks while handing Louis the spoon to stir the chicken in a separate pan.

“Fine,” Harry waves off and then rubs sleep out of his eyes. “Tiring and bullshit. I want to be done with this already.”

“What are you going to do after this anyway?” Louis asks. Another question tucked away.

Harry doesn’t answer for a beat too long, which causes Louis to turn around and face him.

“I wanted to take a gap year,” Harry says to the table. He taps his fingertip on the tabletop, the sound vibrating in the air.

“Are you sure about that?” Liam asks, folding his hands together and looking at Harry directly. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Harry explains, chancing a glance at Louis and the finally settling on Liam, who seems to have a calmer air around him. “It just would make sense, I guess. I would make some money and maybe get another job besides working at the bakery, or do that full time. I need to start saving up, just in case.”

“Just in case?” Louis asks. His voice is harsher than he thought it would be, and he pushes away from the counter. Liam gets up and goes to fill that spot instead.

Harry nods and repeats, “Yes, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Louis asks. 

“Nothing, it’s just a precaution.” Harry’s shoulder hunch up without warning or him knowing, fending Louis off, like he’s about to attack him or something worse. Louis takes a seat in front of Harry and doesn’t reach out. 

“I’m tired of you always dodging these things,” Louis stresses. He presses his fingertips into his kneecaps and tries not to reach out. Harry is always asking for touches, and Louis has to wean him off. He needs to get Harry to talk.

“I’m not dodging anything.”

“That’s a lie and we both know that.” Louis leans back. “Liam knows it, too.”

Liam doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what will happen in the future,” Harry finally confesses. Every time he finally says something, after weeks of silence, something so tight loosens in Louis’ shoulders, like he’s finally able to breathe. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louis asks, harsh.

“I just want to make sure that if this doesn’t work that I can at least support myself, Louis.” Harry fights back.

They always play fire with fire.

“You honestly think I would kick you out after you graduate?”

“No,” Harry stresses, shaking his head. His hair moves quickly, jerky. “You’re not letting me speak.”

“I just want to understand.” Louis feels his chest clench incredibly tight, his fingers pressing into the bones of his kneecaps to keep his hands busy. 

Liam slips into the seat next to them and Louis is thankful. Liam should be there, too. 

“I know I’m not a charity case,” Harry starts. “I just don’t know what will happen during the summer, when I have nothing to do. I want to work and I want to take a gap year because I need to collect myself after what happened.”

Louis catches Liam nodding out of the corner of his eye.

“If something happens to us,” Harry’s gaze is heavy on Louis’ now. “I don’t want to go running home and having to suffer. I need to be ready for whatever happens, no one can tell the future.”

Louis let’s his head fall into his hands and he takes a few breaths. It’s true, though. They were tossed together from the start, fumbling for their relationship and it is standing on shaky legs. He knows Harry has a point, even though he’d rather see him go to University and maybe feel young for a change, to not be under such restrictions. 

“Liam and I have to talk about this,” Louis warns. Harry pales, and wipes his fringe away from his face. “But, I’m fine with it.”

Harry breathes and Liam begins to set the table.

*

Liam brings it up again on their lunch break.

There’s a slight breeze passing through and Louis keeps pressing his fringe down, hoping it stays pressed down with no avail. 

“So, you’re okay with Harry taking a gap year?” Liam asks, fumbling with rolling up his shirtsleeve. Liam always rolls his nicest shirts up just as a precaution to not get them dirty. 

Louis nods and swallows and then says, “Yeah, I’m fine with it. It’s just, you know.” He shrugs.

The sun is shining on Liam’s face, his eyes squinting.

“No, I don’t.” Liam stuffs some food into his mouth. “Why were you so nervous anyway?”

“He’s so young, I wanted him to go to school and actually be there with kids his own age.” Louis swallows and takes a drink of water. “He’s always around us all the time, I thought he’d want to be around people his age.”

“He’s at the age where he hates everyone his own age.” Liam blinks a few times and waits for Louis to respond.

Instead, Louis looks down.

“A lot can change in a year that he’s home, you know. He’s going to be working the whole time, it’s not like he’s going to be freeloading or whatever you’re worried about.” Liam shrugs and adds, “I’m fine with it, because I know you’re fine with it, and you should stop being a prat about it and stop making him miserable. I can only take so much of Harry’s miserable eyes before I have a mental breakdown.”

“He does really have terribly good puppy dog eyes, doesn’t he?” Louis questions.

Liam takes that as the answer he’s looking for, and throws his sandwich wrapper at Louis’ head before telling them they have to rush back to be on time.

*

Graduation happens, and Harry’s hands are shaking and his eyes are wide, like he can’t believe it’s happening. Louis calms him down in the morning, pressing his thumbs in wide swiping circles over Harry’s knuckles. He presses into the bones and makes sure that Harry lets out the breath that he’s been keeping so tight.

“You didn’t have to call out of work to come,” Harry says, his words rushed out in a breath. His eyes look incredibly gray in the light, ever changing with the weather, the season, the mood. Harry’s eyes are his mood rings.

Louis smiles and says, “You think I would miss this? You graduating and becoming an adult.”

“It’s not a big deal, I promise.” Harry’s shoulders are braced, his jaw clenched so tight that Louis is worried it might snap in half. 

The conversation ebbs away into silence afterwards, but Louis keeps his hand wrapped around Harry’s wrist the whole time, from the drives to when Harry has to go and meet with his class. Louis doesn’t kiss him, but sends him a smile, which just makes Harry look even greener than before, and his stomach knot too tightly. 

“He looks like he’s about to shit himself,” Zayn says when Harry is out of reach. Louis is still staring at his retreating back.

“Been a bit of a stressful year for him, hasn’t it?” Liam asks, to which they all hum agreement.

“But.” Niall turns with a smile, his cheeks red in the spring glow and his eyes a happy pure shade of blue. “We’re all happy for him, and for you, as well.” 

“For me?” Louis asks, as they take their seats in the bleaches. Louis is collecting sweat underneath his dress shirt, curling around the dent of his shoulder blades.

Niall has to lean over to continue, and Liam slaps at Zayn’s shoulder when his eyes travel downwards. 

“Yeah, we’re just happy that you guys actually got your shit together and decided that it would be for the best if you tried to work out. We’re just very happy that you found someone, it was a bit tiring to see you sulk and-“

“Excuse me,” Louis hisses as the ceremony starts. The wind stops and the sun pounds hotter on Louis’ back. “I didn’t sulk.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Zayn says, leaning close into Niall who doesn’t seem the least bit worried about the intrusion of personal space. “You were always whining about blue balls and having to be around when the couples were there.”

Louis leans back into his seat and crosses his arm, effectively cutting the conversation short because he doesn’t have time to fight about lies, anyway. Harry is in the back, toying with his curls. He doesn’t look around or try to catch Louis’ eye, but Louis knows that Harry can feel them.

“Are you trying to bore a hole into his head?” Liam whispers, and squeezes Louis’ knee to make him stop. 

Louis jerks and hears a mumbled curse from the woman behind him. He looks back in apology, but the woman is holding a camera up and snapping picture after picture anyway, ignoring him.

“Don’t do that,” Louis hisses back. He peels Liam’s hand away from his kneecap and rubs at the skin that is tingling in pain. 

The graduation is dull and drags on, but Louis keeps his gaze on Harry and even helps Niall locate him in the crowd when Niall lost trace of him.

“He looks miserable,” Liam says, near the end of speeches and handshakes and they’re all standing up. It’s over now – Louis is entirely grateful – and then he looks up and feels ice curdle in his lungs.

It’s not an every day thing for Louis to see Harry’s family – the only way he knows it’s them is from the pictures that Harry keeps neatly tucked on their shared desk, but. They’re right there, fumbling through the crowd and trying to reach Harry.

“His family is here,” Louis says, voice urgent as he races down the bleaches. He keeps his eyes locked on Harry’s family - their hair as dark and eyes as green – and switches to Harry, who is turning around a bit to see where Louis can possibly be.

Louis reaches Harry in time to hear the ending of the sentence that Harry’s mother is saying: “…it’s time for you to come home. We miss you so much.”

Louis wraps his hand confidently around Harry’s wrist. His father’s eyes narrow and Gemma’s cross glitters in the spring sun, her hair rolling to her dress covered breasts.

“You miss me?” Harry spits out, his voice trying to remain calm. People are milling about, kissing and laughing. Harry doesn’t push Louis away, but instead lets Louis press against his back. 

“Harry, what your father did,” His mother starts, trying to step closer. “Was wrong, we know that, but. But you were growing so far away from us and we thought it’d be for the best, because the life you’re living, the life you chose isn’t the right one.”

Louis remembers stepping into the Styles’ house during the cold months and feeling the sear of abomination ring clear in his head for majority of the day. It was like a constant scratch at his head, an unneeded heat to his hands, a scratch to his ribs that he couldn’t reach.

“How is it not right?” Harry asks, voice tight. His jaw is tense and he steps closer as to not make a scene. Gemma hangs in the back, her hair blowing slightly from the wind. She looks terribly upset, her eyes heavy and lips paler than in the pictures Louis has seen in the second he took to organize Harry’s workspace when Harry had fall asleep from studying. 

“We brought you up in a good life, Harry,” His father – step-father, Harry always chimes in with a bitter tone – says and steps in front of his mother. “We raised you and gave you what you needed and this is how you repay us? By going off with this man and becoming scum?”

Louis presses forward, stepping in front of Harry. There’s a burn in his throat that he wants to cough out. He’s eye leveled with his father.

“This is how you treat him?” Louis says, voice steady and eyes trained on Harry’s father’s stone face. “This is how you treat a son that you care for so much? By condemning him for who he loves? You brainwashed all of them, every single one of these people, you did that to.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry’s father spits. 

“I do,” Louis says, this time looking at Gemma. “No one in this world is a perfect angel, Sir. No one is meant to live a saintly life, and even you, I’m sure, have sinned. Harry has chosen his life, and if he’d rather live that one than the one you caged him and forced him into, then so be it. You had your chance and you lost it.”

Louis is surprised his voice is steady and even to the point of calm as each word spills out of his chest. He’s thought about this moment during the quiet times of the day. What he would say, what he would do? Most of it involved punching and crying, but this, this is better than anything he really could have thought of. 

Harry’s father begins to charge, but Gemma reaches for him and curls her long manicured hand around his shoulder.

“Stop,” she says. Her voice is airy, accent diluted. Her eyes are the same color as Harry’s. “If he wants us to go, then we should.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, breath shaking as his hand grows limp in Louis’ steel tight grip. It feels like a brand.

“Go,” he says, voice wrecked like it’s been ripped out of his throat. “Don’t come back.”

*

Harry is subdued and quiet. His eyes pink and rimmed red from the tears that couldn’t help but spill over and chap his defined cheekbones. Louis held onto him, and Harry didn’t protest. He just sighed – like his heart was taking the breath instead of the lungs – and settled into Louis’ warmth.

They eat in silence and the alcohol in the fridge is pushed down unneeded throats and the alcohol swims like a shark in blood-infested waters. Harry lays on the couch and watches the TV, his eyes glazed over and jaw lax. 

“Come on, Haz,” Niall says, leaning over and cupping his hand over Harry’s ankle. Harry seizes up and closes his eyes; a gasp leaving his barely opened lips. Louis gets up at the small sound and Niall steps back.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, kneeling down. His fingers hover over Harry’s hair, waiting for his usual ‘go on’, but it doesn’t come. Harry only looks at the fingers, as if waiting to see what will happen once they touch his skin.

“Told you I was an abomination,” Harry slurs, voice angry and lips crimson red. His lip split open earlier that day, and instead of tonguing at the wound, he let it spill onto his chin and stain. Leave it’s own mark.

“No, you’re-“ Louis stops himself and looks at the other guys. They all come behind Louis and settle down, but don’t touch. Louis still has his hand in the air. “You’re not anything bad Harry, you’re just yourself.”

“S’not okay,” Harry mumbles and presses his face into the couch cushion. His breathing comes out rushed and loud, like static. Harry’s shoulders don’t shake. He just lies there. 

It takes a few minutes of Louis shaking Harry to try and get him to respond. The guys have all left by then, their eyes pleading. 

“Come on, I want you to go to sleep,” Louis mumbles. He presses his fingertips into Harry’s shoulder blade and tries to swallow down how much it hurts when Harry flinches away.

Harry turns on his side and mumbles to the couch, “I’ll just sleep here. It’s fine.”

Louis doesn’t argue. He fetches Harry a blanket and helps get Harry’s pants off despite the initial complaints of touch.

They’ve taken so many steps forward and now it’s like they’ve never met.

Louis tries to fall asleep, but every time he closes his eyes, Gemma’s glittering cross burns underneath his eyelids, swaying back and forth.

*

Harry is translucent the next day and for the following days.

He spends most of his time sleeping and on the computer. His eyes are blurred and hold no emotion, his voice monotone and shut off.

It breaks Louis.

He doesn’t touch Harry, but speaks to him and hopes for Harry to snap out of it, to break into a laugh and a smile. He silently hopes for Harry to sneak into their room – their bed, ever since the first night all those months ago – and be normal again, with their heartbeats almost in sync.

Instead, Harry pales and his hair grows and his eyes are more gray than green and he touches the cross like it’s going to save him.

“It didn’t save you before,” Louis snaps, his neck reddening and head pounding. “So how will it now?”

The room stays quiet as if Louis didn’t just yell and Harry isn’t broken and Liam isn’t waiting for it all to fall apart so he can come back to fix it. Instead, Louis sighs, eyes heavy with sleep and fingers trembling and goes to where Liam is standing.

Suddenly, the bracelet feels more like a handcuff than an actual representation of a link between Harry and him. Louis thumbs it; even wonders what would happen if he slipped it off and decided to hide it like all the other secrets that Harry and Louis are keeping from one another. No, that Harry is keeping, because from day one Harry had been a raspy voice in the side of Louis’ ear and saying ‘I like your name’ and falling asleep smelling of vodka and his ribs had been jagged like razors. 

“I can’t do this,” Louis whispers, his head resting on Liam’s shoulder. His lips are close to his collarbone, and Louis shuts his eyes, finds calm in the colors and patterns that play across the black of his eyelids.

“You’re not the one who has to,” Liam responds, but rubs Louis’ back up and down.

“He was doing so well.” Louis’ voice is wet, but he shuts his eyes, screws them up so tight that the water won’t leave.

Liam pushes him away slightly, and holds Louis’ by his shoulders. “Open your eyes.”

Louis obeys Liam, his strong voice and his stronger hands.

“We’re going to get through this,” Liam whispers, suddenly fierce and it takes Louis’ breath away every single time. “Harry is ours, Louis. He’s yours, and what you have to do is show him that. You need to show him that you won’t have anyone else but him.”

Louis nods his head and wraps Liam into a hug. His arms bringing them together and Liam lets out a stuttered surprise of a breath and holds onto Louis’ waist.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers into the crook of Liam’s neck, his arms shaking from how tight he’s holding on. “Thank you so much for everything, Liam Payne.”

*

Harry slowly begins to open again. Louis feels like it’s tearing apart super glued paper together with how much easing and speaking it takes for Harry’s eyes to become clear like green and not fogged like grey and his mouth to open. All Harry does is breathe mostly, a tiny exhale and his arms start to shake and the crescent marks of his fingernails grow deeper, like he’s on the hunt for the bone of his body or to rip away the problem.

Louis spends majority of his nights watching Harry sleep. It’s not because he wants to - because everything now just vibrates as pain and what used to be and what is now – but because he feels like he has to. 

It’s usually in the middle of the night, peeking in the morning hours, that Louis does sneak into the living room and onto the floor near Harry’s sleeping form. He listens to the even timing of Harry’s breathing, but doesn’t watch him. He’s watched Harry millions of times take his cat naps during revision. He knows how he sleeps.

Louis is mostly terrified of Harry running away. He knows it won’t happen, especially since Harry seems to need Louis when they snap him out of his shock, out of whatever mind game he’s stuck in that repeats those foul words that scorch like brands. He always seems to look at Louis and all Louis can think of is, savior. 

The floorboards are cold when Louis settles down. He spares a glance at Harry’s sleeping face when he gets comfortable enough. He looks calm, his face spotted with freckles from the sun and his hair curling around his cheek from being pressed down into the pillow.

Louis chances a touch, a simple curl of his hand over Harry’s, the one peeking underneath the blanket and loose and uncurled – and is meet with no resistance or shutter of breath that makes them both shy away. Instead, Harry’s fingers flutter in Louis’ palm, curling into the warmth.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, quietly. He closes his eyes and says, “Harry, Harry, Harry.” Says it until it sounds foreign in his mouth and his mind and his heart, but Harry’s grasp doesn’t loosen and his breaths don’t seem so loaded. Eventually, Louis fall asleep, his backbone spiraled and hand awkwardly bent for Harry’s responsive fingers to latch onto.

*

In the morning, Louis wakes up when there’s a tug on his hand. He jerks awake; coughing at the sudden intake of breath and the warmth is gone from his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, voice guarded. His eyes are their grey stormy color from the early hours of the morning.

“Harry,” Louis whispers. His back aches and so does his neck, but he twists himself around and looks into Harry’s eyes.

“Harry,” He presses again, and gently cups Harry’s cheek, feeling the blood and warmth. He feels like he hasn’t touched him in so long. “Harry, are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond, only looks at Louis with his clouded eyes and thinned mouth. It feels like Louis is helping a comatose patient every morning, when Harry wakes and sees a different world than the rest of them. Louis pulls his hand away and settles it on the pulse that stutters at the cold skin.

“Do you do this every night?” Harry whispers. It catches Louis off-guard, not having to coax Harry out of his haunted and guarded state that probably reeks of rejection and his stepfather’s face. 

Louis doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t. Sometimes he watches for a few minutes and then leaves and falls asleep by himself, curled tight under the blankets and replaying memories of Harry’s tired laugh and their quick hands over skin. 

“I’m worried about you,” Louis says, after too much silence that Harry looks like he’s going to sink back into being nothing more than a beautiful shell of a broken boy. 

“I’m not a little kid.” Harry sits up, his back cracking.

“I never said you were, Harry.” Louis’ hand reaches for Harry’s back, to soothe down his backbone. Harry is looking down at his hand though, eyes locked and suddenly he shakes his head and gets up.

“I have to go to work soon.” Harry doesn’t look back as he says it, but his back stands straighter and his shoulders tensed and Louis doesn’t respond, just staying sitting on the floor of the living room.

*

There are moments – seconds captured – when Harry looks like he’s returning to himself. Times when Harry smiles down at the table after Liam has said something, or the blush that creeps to the apples of his cheeks when Niall wraps him in a hug and whispers things into his ears.

There are times when Harry reaches out for Louis as he passes by, but instead curls his hand in on himself and holds it there. There are times when Harry’s eyes are so blindingly green in the light that pours through the blinds that he sparkles like emeralds. All of those moments come to an end, though. They come to an end whenever Louis touches the small of Harry’s back or try to press a kiss into his neck. He stutters and freezes and braces himself and Louis feels like they’re standing on different corners of the universe, where Louis will wait and wait and wait.

And just keep waiting until _his_ Harry comes back.

*

“This needs to stop,” Louis says, kneeling in front of Harry who is sitting and eating cereal. He looks skinnier, sickly lately. Liam steps behind Louis and places his hand on Louis’ shoulder as support.

“Harry, please,” Louis begs, feeling his heart thud against his rib cage. “I love you and you know that I do. Just tell me what to do, please? Tell me what to do that will make you realize that this is the life you can live.”

“Can we leave?” Harry asks, his voice soft and deep. His eyes catch the light and they’re green today. Louis clenches onto Harry’s hand, fierce.

“Yes,” Louis says, smiling. “We can go anywhere, Harry.”

*

It seems like a sign the next day when Louis’ gets a call from his mum.

Her voice is airy and she sounds worried. Louis can imagine her leaning against the kitchen wall with her arm tucked underneath the one cradling the phone, with a small smile across her lips.

She asks, “When will you visit your sisters and me, Lou? The girls miss you.” There’s the silent ‘ _I miss you_ ’ that hangs in the air between Doncaster and London.

Louis smiles at his feet, thinks ‘that’s it’ and says, “Actually, Mum, I was thinking of maybe coming up in a week or two? Need to make some arrangements and everything.”

“Oh, Louis,” Jay says, her smile and joy evident down the phone line. “I’ll go tell your sisters right away. I can’t wait to see you again, it’s been so long.”

“I know.” Louis’ voice quiet and biting the edge of his nail. “I know, but I’ll be home soon, I promise, mum. I love you.”

“I love you, too, my baby boy,” Jay says quietly before hanging up.

*

A week later, Louis closes the boot of Zayn’s car and promises him repeatedly that he will not crash it or do anything stupid.

“You should trust him,” Niall says, nodding his head quickly as he gives Harry another hug before smiling at him. “We want you to be okay.”

“I do trust him.” Zayn throws his arm around Niall’s shoulders when they break apart. “It took a lot of time for us to save up for this car, I just don’t need him making a mess of it.”

“Oh, come off it, will you?” Louis jokes, before Zayn breaks away from Niall and gives him a hug. He thumps him on the back a couple of times and whispers, “Be good to our little Haz, will you?” His voice thick.

Liam is the last to hug Louis. He’s too busy talking to Harry in his quiet voice with his wide eyes, making sure he stresses how much he hopes that Harry will feel better and to at least try and call every day.

“Stop being such a mum,” Harry mumbles, his voice light. Liam hugs him suddenly, burrowing his face into Harry’s shoulder and rubbing his back. 

“I can be a mum if I want to be one,” Liam adds in with a small pout of his lips when they break apart. 

Louis nods, saluting them all. Harry slips into the passenger seat, and waves his hand from the opened window and then closes it, settling in.

*

The drive is quiet except for the music playing from the radio.

Harry sleeps for most of the ride, head resting against the window. Louis chances glances whenever he stops and Harry seems at ease. His jaw unclenched and eyes roaming beneath his lids as he dreams.

“I wonder what you dream about,” Louis mumbles to himself. He hopes they’re actual dreams and not horrid nightmares.

Louis eventually takes Harry’s opened hand lying on his lap, and closes his fingers around Harry’s. It’s the only time where Harry allows to be touched by Louis. Harry’s hand seems to relax, his fingers loosely curling around Louis’ own hand as he settles them around the gearshift. 

The drive is long and Louis remembers why he doesn’t do it all that often. The sky is thick with gray clouds. 

Harry eventually wakes up when they’re near Louis’ home, and slips his fingers out of Louis’ grip. He doesn’t say anything, except stares out the window.

“You can change the station if you’d like,” Louis says. His voice sounds loud in the small car, the music being overshadowed. 

“No.” Harry wraps his arms around his torso and takes a breath. “It’s fine.”

*

The Tomlinson house isn’t all that big, but it fits four girls and his mum and that seems to be enough.

Harry shifts up, curious, as he looks around. He taps his fingers on his kneecaps and flicks his hair out of the way, jittering with pent up energy that Louis thought was exhausted from being near comatose for weeks.

“Are you nervous?” Louis asks, turning the engine off. Harry looks at him, eyes wide and his mouth turned down just slightly. 

“No, I’m not nervous.” Harry’s foot stops tapping along the floor of the car, like he’s commanding himself to do it. “I’m just. They might not like me.”

“Harry, my family is all girls,” Louis says, seriously. He really wants to reach out and push back the stray curl that is twisting on Harry’s cheek, and kiss him, maybe. He hasn’t kissed him in so long. “They’re going to like you, believe me.”

By the time that Louis gets out of the car, the door opens and he sees a pair of matching girls running towards him. Bending down, Louis picks up the twins and smiles at both of their smiling and giddy faces.

“Happy to see me, are you?” Louis teases. He turns towards Harry, fixing his hands so he has a better grasp on the twins and smiles at him.

“Daisy,” Louis says, nodding to the one on his left. She smiles and waves, her front tooth missing. “And Phoebe.” Louis shifts his head to the right side and the girl with two missing bottom teeth smile and wave, as well.

Harry steps closer, smiling as he grasps each of their hands. Daisy wraps her arms around his neck and Harry takes her out of Louis’ arm and cradles her against his own thin chest. 

“What’s your name?” She asks, eyes brilliantly blue and cheeks shaped so innocently.

“Harry.”

“Oh, you’re Harry.”

Louis turns around and Lottie and Fizz hug his legs and Jay smiles at him and then flickers her gaze towards Harry.

“You’re taller than I thought you would be,” Jay jokes as she kisses Louis’ on the cheek.

“Everyone seems to think that,” Harry jokes back. He sets Daisy down on the ground. She steps back and folds her hands around her back, a half-toothless grin splaying her features. She’s blushing just a bit.

After introducing everyone and Harry gets an armful of both Daisy and Phoebe, they head inside. Lottie helps with one of the bags and Jay the other, her free hand wrapping around Louis’ waist and pulling him close.

“Seems like we have a bit to talk about,” She whispers into Louis’ ear as they watch Harry carry the twins with Felicity leading them to the door.

“Believe me,” Louis says, suddenly exhausted. His head aches. “You don’t know the half of it.”

*

“Do you want to sleep with me or stay in a different room?” Louis asks. There’s a shrill giggle and the sound of feet running around the kitchen floor downstairs.

Harry shrugs and says, “I’ll stay with you.” His voice is mumbled and he seems more closed off than he was before.

The room is small and the walls bare. The sheets have changed and there’s a flower sat on the desk with fresh flowers in the glass vase. Harry plays with one of the petals before it falls off and falls onto the desk. He turns around, stares at Louis.

“What?” Louis asks as he sits down on the bed. It’s still worn and soft. Louis feels like he’s seventeen again, and then bitterly wishes he were because then everything would be easier.

Harry shakes his head and says, “Nothing,” in a quiet tone.

Louis reaches out for him, watching the afternoon beams slice Harry in the light and in the darkness. Harry closes the door, turns towards Louis, and moves slowly. It’s like there’s a slow pull now – so much smaller than what it used to be, but still there – and Louis wraps his arms tight around Harry’s body. 

“I’ve missed you,” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, voice quiet. The sun is beating on his back, greeting them as if they’ve finally fallen out of the darkness and are now reaching and greeting the light, like an old friend. Harry is quiet except for his breathing, even and his hands are splayed out on Louis’ back, like he’s trying to get them to press together and become one. 

Harry pulls back and kisses Louis. Its fierce and pent up, teeth clicking and Louis clutches onto the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him in more. He wants to get lost in the way Harry’s tongue curls and the way his hands are hot and spread and take the whole of Louis’ back. Louis wants to beg to be branded and to be held onto, because he’s missed Harry like the sun misses the moon each day. 

Harry pulls on Louis’ lip with his teeth, marks and bites and they pull away when they run out of breath. 

“I love you,” Harry mumbles, lips swollen and eyes so blindingly green that they look like they’re what created the world. Louis kisses him, presses his lips to his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, any skin that he’s restricted himself from.

Harry whispers ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ into the spaces of Louis’ cheeks, between the pure skin of his eyes, on the seam of his lips, down to his collarbones and presses his fingers over Louis’ bracelet. 

The sun is scorching and bright on their skin, sending glimmers between the cross hatches of their skin. Louis catches the sounds of his sister’s giggling, their running, and his mother yell for them all to calm down. All he collects is Harry. Harry who is so light in more ways than one, who is returning to the light after being trapped in the darkness, who is now his Harry once again and hopefully won’t fall to the monsters that crawl through his brain and his bones.

“Stay with me,” Louis whispers, once Harry lays next to him. Louis runs his hands down Harry’s shirt covered back, tracing the dip of his spine, the rough material of his jeans. “Don’t leave me again.”

Harry clutches onto Louis’ shirt, keeps his breathing calm. There are things to be said, secrets to be dug out of rib cages and brought into the world, Louis is beginning to open the windows and the curtains are drawn, the world expanding beyond the two of them.

“I won’t leave,” Harry whispers, his breath hot and chest calm as Louis presses his hand, palm flat, on the planes of Harry’s chest. He feels his heart beat thumping wildly and wonders how long Harry will keep his promise. If he’ll wake up and be locked away again. Harry’s breath evens out, and the light bathes over them both.

*

Dinner is eventful, but there is a copious amount of wine that stains Harry’s lips wine red and make his eyes seem greener underneath the dinner table light.

Daisy is sitting on Harry’s lap, giggling as she tugs on his curls. She’s gentle and lets the hair wrap around her tiny fingers and Harry holds onto her other hand, laughing as she tells him jokes. 

“He seems nice?” Lottie asks. He smiles at her, and is still surprised by how much she’s grown. Her body no longer awkward and he can’t believe that she’s seventeen, that he left when she was awkward and gangly and came back to find her beautiful and a heartbreaker.

“Of course he is,” Their mother responds, a smile over the rim of her wine glass. She takes a sip and sets it down. “Louis would make the right decision about these sort of things. You remember Liam, Lottie, don’t you?”

“Mum,” Louis stresses, tossing his head to the side so he can look into her eyes. “How many times have I told you that Liam and I were never like that, he’s my best mate.” 

Jay opens her mouth and then Louis adds in, “platonic best mate,” and she smiles and takes another gulp of wine.

“Harry.”

Harry looks away from Phoebe and Daisy and Fizz, all scrambling around him with their food forgotten. He keeps commenting on their hair and eyes and laughs at their jokes and lets them touch their hair. 

“Yes?” 

“You and Louis should go outside before it gets too dark,” Jay suggests with a small tilt of her lips. Phoebe whines why and Daisy curls her hand around Harry’s and says that they want to play with him instead, giggling.

“No,” Lottie says picking them both up with Fizz trailing behind them. “Time to go to bed the lot of you, you can play with Harry later.”

Harry smiles and says a quiet good night. He suddenly looks younger and exhausted, like he’s been up for years and years.

“You want to?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods his head and gets up, pushing the chair in. 

“Thank you, Ms. Tomlinson,” Harry says, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“It’s Jay to you,” She says with a smirk. She gets up and begins to clean the table. “I have a feeling you’ll be staying for a while.”

*

“The garden is what my mum prides herself on the most.”

The sky is heavy purples and pinks with splashes of oranges and reds. It’s twilight outside, and Harry leans close into Louis, their hands twining together on their own once Harry brushes shoulders with him.

“S’massive,” Harry mumbles.

It really is massive, with flowers of all colors and sizes. It smells like summer as much as it feels like it in the garden. Louis feels Harry relax underneath the glow of twilight and in the protective barrier of the trees and each color splashing out at him.

“Yeah, well.” Louis shrugs and stops them between two weeping willows that cover them. He presses a kiss against Harry’s drooping eyelid. “My parents used to garden a lot during the summer when they were still together.”

“Used to? Together?” Harry asks.

“They divorced a few years ago.” Louis leaves it at that. He doesn’t mention the weeks he spent drinking at night and having Liam or Niall and Zayn carry him back to the apartment and staying up with him while he cried about stupid love and how it was a lie and puked in the toilet. 

“Does she do it anymore?”

Louis shrugs. “Lottie says she does because she likes keeping up with tradition.”

Harry plays with his bracelet as he leans against the weeping willow’s tree trunk. 

“I wonder if Gemma went to the seaside,” Harry whispers. He scrubs a hand through his hair.

Louis steps closer and asks, “How much do you miss her?”

“So much,” Harry whispers, his voice thick. “I just miss having my sister always there, but when she left for university I just felt alone, because it was easier for me to talk to people than make them be my friends, you know. Most girls just wanted my cock and most guys were jealous, for whatever reason, I don’t know.”

Louis places his hands on Harry’s hips, leans in close so Harry’s voice doesn’t have to be so loud. He knows that Harry doesn't like speaking so loud when it comes to his family.

“When I saw them again, it just hit me. When they started talking about how I could come back, how I needed to change myself.” Harry rubs his eye. Louis wants to kiss each freckle on Harry’s cheeks. “Then you were there and I realized,” Harry stops, curls his hands on Louis’ shoulders and makes them lock eyes. “I realized I needed it to be you and only you. That you were the person, the life, I needed to pick.”

Louis nods his head and then says, “Think you’re ready to let go?”

Harry nods, jerky. 

“Will you let me?”

Harry nods again, doesn’t even know what’s coming, but Louis knows that Harry trusts him completely, would probably do anything to have him close to him. The feeling is mutual.

The chain comes undone easily, and Louis feels the cool metal of the cross slip into his palm. 

The pond is quiet and when Louis tosses the cross necklace, the plop last for a perfect second, and then it’s gone.

“If only it were that easy,” Harry mumbles, still covered by the weeping willow. He looks exhausted.

“Come on.” Louis grabs a hold of Harry’s hand and tugs a bit. “It’s getting late and I know you hate being out in the humidity for too long.”

Harry smiles, but doesn’t laugh. Louis counts it as a win anyway; small victories are all he has for right now.

*

The weekend is spent with Harry spending most of his time out in the garden playing with the girls. The sun is warm and tans Harry, his lips redder and eyes greener and Louis feels something coil in his stomach that he has spent so long betraying and pushing away.

They kiss at night, with the blankets pulled over their heads and their hands tracing exposed skin from shirts being rumpled and boxers being slung too low. 

The girls giggle when Harry sports a hickey and Jay shoots Louis a smile and a roll of her eyes.

“He’s a good kid,” Jay says, standing next to Louis from inside the kitchen, looking out at the garden. Fizz runs around giggling as Harry chases her; back hunched and a smile on his face.

“The girls seem to like him, which seems to be the ultimate seal of approval.”

Louis can’t help the beam that spreads across his face.

“Do you like him?” He asks, eyes sliding to look at her.

Jay nods and then Louis runs outside and helps play along. Harry laughs when he sees him, and the girls tackle him to the ground, their giggles high and lively.

*

During the week they stay, Louis sees Harry become himself again.

He calls Liam excitedly and Liam seems more relieved than anything, as if this was the last straw. Harry is back to being loose limbed and bright lipped with his tired eyes and slow talking. 

In the middle of the last night there Louis mumbles, “We should move in together.” 

It’s a spur of the moment thought, really. It’s aided by being half asleep and the way Harry smells like Louis’ home now and how he just wants to be with him completely alone, for them to start a new life. Maybe have a garden of their own with whatever flowers Harry likes the most. 

Harry smiles and says, “Yeah, okay.” It seems to solidify it and Louis wants to backtrack and think maybe that it shouldn’t be as easy, that maybe they should discuss it, but. They never discussed their relationship or anything of the sort. They were thrown together from the beginning, when Harry was translucent skin and peeking ribs and Louis was too much on his backbone that weighed him down and an ache in his chest that seemed to mold for Harry especially.

“Alright,” Louis mumbles sleepily, and presses a kiss to his jaw.

*

Liam greets them with hugs and smiles when Harry laughs and says hello.

“You look better,” He greets, breathless. Danielle comes up behind him and waves hello and Harry immediately goes to hug her.

Niall and Zayn come over later with Nando’s and alcohol.

“It’s a welcome home party,” Niall announces, taking a sip of cider and passing it to Zayn who makes grabby hands for it. 

“For you two and for my car,” Zayn says after he’s gulped down some of the cider and gives it back to Niall who smiles and sits down next to Harry. 

It’s during Louis’ third or fourth shot of vodka that he slings his arm around Liam and brings their heads close together.

He mumbles, “Harry and I are moving in together.” 

Liam moves back just a bit and looks into Louis’ eyes, which Louis doesn’t understand why because he’s drunk, and he rarely plays games when he’s drunk. Okay, that’s a lie, but he doesn’t play games when it comes to Harry.

“Are you serious?” Liam asks, and he’s smiling so wide. His eyes crinkling and he hugs Louis.

“Wait, shouldn’t you be upset about this?” Louis asks, a bit confused. He pushes Liam away. “Shouldn’t you be like crying and saying that we can’t split up the dream team and that it’s all or nothing or something?”

“Louis,” Liam says seriously, even though the name is slurred. “We’ve been wondering how long it would take for this to happen, it’s almost been a year.”

“Well,” Louis yells and everyone turns to look at him. He gets up and grabs Harry by the face, fingers getting caught in Harry’s hair. He kisses him, their lips pressing and Harry seizes up for a few seconds, caught off guard, but then he relaxes.

“Might as well celebrate,” Louis announces when he pulls away from Harry. He keeps his gaze locked onto Harry’s though. 

“Might as well,” Harry says, in the space between their two bodies. He pulls Louis down and there’s cheering and more alcohol and Louis’ vision swims from Harry’s green eyes to dark.

*

“Are you really going to do it?” Liam asks from the threshold of the door. His lips are stained from Danielle’s applied lipstick, but Louis ignores the comment and just groans instead.

“Do what? Kill myself because of this bloody hangover?” Louis takes a sip of coffee and feels it scorch down his throat and plop into his stomach. It almost makes up for it. 

“No.” Liam’s smile is small and fond, but his eyes are bloodshot and messed up in all directions. “The whole moving out thing. With Harry.” Liam waves his hand in nonchalance. 

“Uh,” Louis feels his chest beat wildly, and he knows it’s right. He should be doing it he needs to be doing it. “Yeah, I mean, if we find a flat and everything.”

“That’s fine, because I’ve been meaning to ask Danielle to move in.”

“Wow, man,” Louis says, pouting into his coffee. “Going to replace Haz and me already? That’s a bit rude.” 

“Oh, shut up.”

Liam and Louis both start laughing, the curtains still closed because they can’t bear to see the sunlight. 

Harry eventually wakes up, stumbling in and pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek that tastes of toothpastes but still smells sharp like the vodka from last night.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Louis says, with a small smile. 

Instead of going to his usual seat, Harry plops down on Louis’ lap, looking down at him with a small tired smile. 

Louis would usually complain, saying his body can’t take Harry’s boney bottom, but instead he wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, holding him there. He can’t imagine himself letting go.

“Getting a bit cushiony on your bum, are you?” Louis mumbles, kissing Harry’s shoulder through the worn edges of his shirt.

Liam rolls his eyes and bites into a piece of toast, says, “Can’t you two not be such a couple at the table? We’ve only got a few breakfasts left like this!” 

“You’re only saying that as an excuse for us not to be as touchy as possible,” Louis retaliates, pinching one of Harry’s nipples through his shirt. Harry jumps a bit, slaps Louis’ hand away and goes back to eating Louis’ left over bacon. 

Eventually, Liam gets up and says, “Danielle wants me to come over today.” 

“Aren’t you feeling ill?” Louis asks. He does feel a bit better from coffee and breakfast. He rubs his thumb down Harry’s spine a bit, feeling him relax.

Liam shakes his head as he puts his dishes in the sink. “No, I didn’t drink very much, you know, kidney and everything.”

“That excuse only work like fifty percent of the time,” Louis mumbles, pressing a small excuse of a kiss to Harry’s back. 

Eventually, Liam leaves, showered and wearing one of Louis’ jumpers. He tells them to clean up, very nicely, and waves them off. 

“Come on.” Louis pats Harry’s knee. Harry shuffles up, wiping the crumbs off of his hands on the empty plate. He turns to Louis.

“Are we really going to do the dishes?” Harry asks with a heavy frown, his eyes wide. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Louis asks, stepping closer to Harry. Harry looks down at him, a smile playing on his lips.

“Tons.”

*

The whole month of July – blistering hot with too much humid rain – is spent with Louis and Harry looking at flats.

At first, it started out being all five of them with Danielle sometimes stopping by, but then it got too complicated. Louis realizes that this will be their flat, just the two of them.

“It needs a special feel,” Louis stresses one night at the pub with everyone around him. The music is loud. “It needs to feel like home for us first and then you lot can either like it or fuck off, really.” 

Liam had rolled his eyes as Niall was draped by Zayn and ordered more rounds for the table.

Danielle’s things are starting to sneak more into the apartment. First it starts with her toothbrush hogging the cup with three others, bright pink next to Liam’s orange. Then it started with a few pairs of shoes as she always had her ballet flats in her bag.

“It’s nice,” Harry says, toeing off his shoes and shaking the rain out of his hair. “It gives the apartment a very nice womanly touch.”

Louis and Harry spend most of their time at home on Harry’s laptop. The pictures are tucked away in what used to be Harry’s only drawer in the dresser, underneath the pile of clothes that he rarely puts on anymore. It feels lighter around the room. 

“It was never this hard to find a flat with Liam,” Louis grumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, massaging needed sleep out of them. It’s early in the morning, the rain pelting against the windows. The sky is still heavily blue and there’s a crack of thunder that makes Harry jolt a bit.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, his shoulder knocking into Louis’ chin. “Just a bit preoccupied with the whole thing. Got a bit lost in my mind.”

Louis rubs his chin and says, “Is there anything to you that isn’t a boney mess?” He says it fondly, laughing near the end when Harry looks at him, eyebrows creased and his nostrils flared just a bit.

Harry kisses his chin, mostly near the dip of his bottom lip instead of the place he hit, but Louis leans down and kisses him instead. 

“Come on,” Louis says, taking the laptop away and closing the lid. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Harry is asleep within minutes, his breath pressing hot over Louis’ face in even breaths. Usually Louis would turn away, but instead, he wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and tugs him closer. Their legs tangle and hips press together, and Louis’ arm eventually finds it’s usual spot underneath Harry’s head.

They don’t wake up till the late afternoon, and Louis is silently thankful for weekends and Harry’s just woken up bedroom eyes.

*

They find the flat two weeks before Liam’s birthday. Harry walks around the empty rooms, his fingers skirting along the white bare walls.

Louis watches him, gauges his reaction, because this will be Harry’s home more than anything. He follows quietly behind him, looking at the large windows in the bedroom and the small kitchen and the living room. The sunlight pours in, bright and strong as ever, bathing Harry yellow when he steps in front of the bay window looking out into the city.

“We’re a bit far from your job,” Harry mumbles when Louis steps next to him, placing his hand on his waist. There are people milling about, not even aware that they’re being watched over. 

“Could use the exercise, can’t I?” Louis jokes. Harry smiles at him, eyes folding closed just slightly. 

“This could be our home, can’t it?” Harry is shy and fond. He’s learned not to ask, but to take now. He shakes his head when Louis opens his mouth and says, his voice deep and eyes scorching, “This is going to be our home.”

Louis nods and says, “Yeah, this could be ours.”

*

They move in a week later. The couple that used to live there shaking their hands and giving them smiles. The woman is pregnant, her hand curled around her stomach as she talks about how they needed more room and needed to leave as soon as possible to get everything set up for their baby.

Majority of their stuff needs assembling, but Liam and Zayn carry the boxes of stuff in as Niall walks around aimlessly and helps Harry sort through things, taking each thing out and having Harry direct him where to put it.

“You won’t forget us, will you?” Zayn asks, his eyes big and lower lip jutting up dramatically. 

Louis rolls his eyes and says, “As much as I wish I could, no, mainly because Niall and you are going to drag Harry out to go get more tattoos, I gather.”

“No, Niall and I were thinking of taking him to a club and seeing how many free drinks he can get from other guys there,” Zayn says, crossing his arms as he watches Niall walk around the living room. 

“I’ll buy him enough drinks,” Louis mumbles. Harry looks up and waves Louis over, his eyes pleading for help.

“You three are being lazy.” Harry cuts open another box. They don’t have much stuff with them, but Louis likes that the most. The fact that they only took what was necessary and now have empty spaces on the walls to fill up, their bedroom completely bare except for the mattress laid on the floor because they’re too lazy to fix the bed frame up. 

They end up taking a shower together. There are still boxes in the living room that are waiting to be assembled and the task of finding cheap furniture for the place, also, but. Louis shakes each thought away as he traces a water droplet that trails down Harry’s spine. 

Harry turns and kisses Louis underneath the spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat from day’s work and starting them clean. Louis spends most of the time washing Harry’s arms, his stomach, letting his palms cup the back of Harry’s thighs. 

The water runs out fast of hot water, but they’ve grown used to it. The water is chilled, raising goose bumps on their skin. They kiss away the thought of the cold water and Louis grips onto Harry’s hair fiercely and kisses his lips like he’s going to drown. 

“We’re finally alone,” Harry whispers. He comes into the room in one of Louis’ shirts, covering him up to mid thigh. The lights are bright on his skin, showing the veins that press underneath his eyes and the muscles that flutter as he walks towards the bed. He settles on Louis’ lap.

“Yeah, we are.” Louis’ voice is quiet, rushing words out in a breath. His hands play with the hem of Harry’s shirt, untucking it where it folds underneath Harry’s ass. His fingers skirt along his back, feeling the cooled down heat of Harry’s skin pick up.

“I want,” Harry whispers, leaning in closer. Their lips ghost together and Harry breathes out, “you”, and Louis kisses him. Kisses him and their clothes get pulled off with needing hands and their gasps are wanting and Harry whispers Louis’ name as he’s flipped over on his back. 

Harry’s knee curves around Louis’ hip like it was made to do such a thing, to curve and hold Harry apart for Louis. There’s fingers pressing and Harry sucks, his lips wine red and eyes closed. Louis presses his fingertips into the blunt black lines of Harry’s tattoo, leaving a bruise, a claim of: this is mine and only mine onto this boy’s skin. 

Louis presses and opens Harry until he’s begging, his jaw lax and the only thing he’s saying is a chant of Louis, please and there’s foil being torn apart and Harry scratches long blunt lines on Louis’ back, arching over shoulder blades.

There’s a mess of kissing and heat and a mess of limbs. Louis doesn’t know where Harry begins or where he ends, but it doesn’t matter. He thinks of Harry’s panting in his ear, the way his lips brush against Louis’ hair and the high curve of his ear, kiss swollen and needy. There’s a blur between _need_ , _want_ , and _I love you_ , _I love you_ , _I love_ , _yes_ , _there please, Louis_. _Oh, oh, oh-_

And it ends and Louis presses kisses along Harry’s panting chest. He presses his teeth to the racing heartbeat and makes sure to bite down that Harry’s gasps, biting his knuckle to keep quiet. 

There’s unrushed kisses and Louis tying the condom up and tossing it in the trashcan near their bed.

“Good thing we didn’t wait to assemble the bed frame,” Louis mumbles, sleeping edging into his senses.

The last thing he hears is Harry’s laugh.

*

The apartment starts filling up with random things. There are posters of bands that Zayn gives to Louis from the record shop as a present. There’s a underlying layer of the bakery every time Louis comes in and Harry smells of dough and sugar, sometimes his shirt covered in white flour and dough stuck underneath his finger nails.

There’s a constant stream of people, and within a few months, the flat is lived in and Harry doesn’t stop smiling, his eyes sparkling bright like emeralds. 

Liam’s party is thrown at the apartment and the smell of the bakery combines with the smell of alcohol and Danielle and Liam kiss, giggling and happy, Liam’s eyes bright and his lips bright red. 

Harry pushes Louis onto the bed when everyone else is asleep, but the city is alive. The city with its bright lights that bathe Harry in an orange glow and the rumble of cars and the drunken laughter of people cover them in a shield, protecting just the two of them. There’s Harry who kisses and rides Louis, clawing at his chest. In a city that constantly moves, there is Harry’s who is balancing slowly, regaining his feet. There’s the fleeting need to run hidden in his bones, the airplane pressing cool against his fluttering heart, and there’s Louis, the chain, holding him down.

 

 


End file.
